


Break Time

by Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody



Series: Flower Town [3]
Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ensemble Cast, F/F, Gay Nightclubs, Hollow Bastion | Radiant Garden, M/M, Other, Slice of Life, Twilight Town (Kingdom Hearts), college town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-02 06:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20655179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody/pseuds/Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody
Summary: Isa and Lea adjust to life with a new dog.Ienzo has an unusual encounter on a usual street.The Higanbana B-team tries to survive the most stressful health inspection of their lives.Lea is an attention-seeker for 10k words straight.And more.





	1. I Watch You Fast Asleep

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Part 3 of Flower Town! This one is basically just an assortment of chapters that didn't really fit into the main storyline, but which I nevertheless _really_ wanted to include. Just think of them as taking place during some non-specific part of the summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Lea, Isa, and Thorn. Takes place during the first month or so after they adopt her.

For all his reservations about adopting a dog, Lea was nothing if not sympathetic to Thorn’s plight. This did not, however, mean that he was above clamping a pillow over his ears at two-thirty in the morning when she awoke with a start and a series of panicked yelps. “This is the third time, you know,” he told Isa, who was already hauling himself out of bed for what he was well aware was the third time. He knelt with Thorn, trying to coax her back to her nest of blankets on the floor.

“She’s confused,” he said, his voice scratchy. “It takes her a minute to remember that she’s not on the street anymore.”

“Yeah, I’m just saying…it’s only a matter of time before our neighbors start knocking on the door. I can’t believe they haven’t already.”

Isa continued to pet Thorn, soothing her back down to quiet whimpers, then sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I’ll take care of it.”

Lea sat halfway up, more of a formality than anything. “Need any help?”

“No. I’ll sit with her for a while. Go back to sleep.”

Lea watched Isa lead Thorn out of the bedroom, noticing how comfortable she seemed around him, and thinking that two people fussing over her in the middle of the night was probably just a recipe for more stress. All things he told himself in order to flop back down for a guilt-free night’s sleep. Within minutes he had drifted off again, sleeping so soundly that he didn’t even stir when Isa returned for his pillow and Thorn’s blanket.

When Lea awoke the next morning, he knew immediately that he was alone. After a brief stretch which involved a very satisfying neck crack, he wandered out to the family room, assuming that was where Isa had brought Thorn the night before. He was right, but entirely unprepared for the sight that greeted him.

Isa had taken every single cushion in the room and propped and stacked and angled them in front of the couch, like the forts he and Lea used to hide in during the movie nights of their childhood. Thorn was curled up within the makeshift den, her eyes and nose twitching as she dreamt. And at the “entrance” of the den sat Isa, slumped against one of the cushions, keeping guard even as he slept.

Lea’s first thought was that he should get his phone and take a picture, but he contented himself with simply watching from the doorway. Eventually he returned to the kitchen, deciding to let the pair awaken at their own pace to the smell of breakfast.

Later that morning came a visit to the vet’s office, where Isa had managed to book a same-day appointment after explaining their situation. Thorn trembled, stricken by the foreign, antiseptic smell of the office, but the vet offered soothing words until the dog simply stood in the middle of the room, still unsure but much less shaky. After a close inspection and an informal test, the vet concluded that Thorn’s wounded ear had closed so thoroughly that she was practically half-deaf.

“Hard to say how it happened, though I’d bet it was another dog. As much as I hate to admit it, dog-fighting is a real problem in this area. Unfortunately, the lucky ones end up like Thorn, abandoned on the street.”

“You think that’s what happened to her?”

“It’s the most likely case,” the vet told Isa, giving Thorn a few reassuring pats. “See these scars? Almost always caused by excessive or improper muzzling. Some people just use whatever they can get their hands on. I’ve seen dogs whose mouths were bound with electrical tape, one who was stuck in a metal can with the bottom cut off—not that I think that’s what happened to Thorn,” she added quickly when she noticed the horrified looks on Lea and Isa’s faces. “Those things cause lasting damage. Thorn’s scars are pretty rough, and definitely permanent, but it’s all surface-level. Her mouth and airways are looking good. She was probably just stuck in a regular muzzle for too long.”

Isa looked both upset and relieved while the vet ran her hands down Thorn’s sides, checking her ribs. “She’s _very_ docile,” she went on. “If I had to guess, I’d say she was raised for dog-fighting, lacked the disposition, and was eventually turned loose. She probably came from someplace like Traverse Town—that’s where the main hub tends to be.”

“Well, how about that,” Lea said, smiling in spite of the grim subject matter. He held his hand out to Thorn, letting her sniff it before giving her a little scratch on the head. “You and me both, girl.”

They left the relatively painless visit with an appointment for a follow-up in a few months, a case of specialized dog food, and a packet of information regarding Thorn’s care, which Isa flipped through in the backseat with Thorn while Lea drove them home. He dropped them off at the curb, claiming that he had some errands to run, and an hour later he called Isa from the front of the building, demanding his help carrying a medium-sized dog bed and indoor kennel upstairs. They spent the better part of the afternoon figuring out how to construct it, but they finally got it set up in their bedroom, taking the place of the ineffective blanket nest.

“You really didn’t have to do this,” Isa insisted as Lea tossed a blanket over the top of the cage for extra security. He shrugged, still adjusting the hinges and tightening a few screws, having already sunk over an hour into the cage’s assembly and wanting it to _know_ they had conquered it.

“We might as well ease her into this with baby steps. Besides,” Lea said as he smoothed out the blanket, “her sleeping in bed with us, I can handle. You sleeping on the floor with her, I can’t.”

The way Isa rubbed his lower back said that he wholeheartedly agreed. He went to the family room, trying to persuade Thorn to come see her new den, while Lea tossed the stuffed rabbit he’d bought last night into the cage. Thorn had been too preoccupied and distressed to pay much attention to it, but he figured it couldn’t hurt.

The kennel turned out to be the best idea they’d had so far. Thorn slept soundly in it, and Isa admitted that she did seem more at ease in enclosed spaces. In a couple weeks, however, Thorn finally let Isa convince her to jump up onto the bed. Lea knew this was the end of being able to sleep comfortably, but he couldn’t help smiling at how confused Thorn looked about where she’d ended up, and how futilely Isa tried to get her to relax and lie down.

Once she started sleeping with them, it became habit quickly. They left the kennel up, wanting her to have the option of a little extra security if she ever needed it, and also unwilling to go through the rigamarole of disassembling the thing. But most nights, Thorn waited patiently while they got ready for bed, then hopped up onto the foot of the mattress, where they’d spread out her blanket. She would do her rotations and curl up carefully, letting Isa pet her over and over until she was settled in.

No one argued against Isa being her main caretaker—that much was apparent from the start. Whenever Thorn awoke in a frightful fit during the night, Isa was the one who got out of bed, shushing her and even taking her on a short walk around the neighborhood to burn off the energy. After one particularly long night, Thorn still got up at the break of day, some leftover nervousness urging her to be on her feet. Isa wasn’t exactly enthused about getting up for the fifth time, but his catering to Thorn was nearly a reflex by now. But Lea, despite being just as sleepy, placed his hand on Isa’s shoulder and mumbled, “I got it.”

Isa paused, but as soon as he felt Lea getting out of bed, he dropped his head back to the pillow, muttering, “Thank you,” through his hair. Lea brushed his teeth with half-asleep jerky motions, trying not to open his eyes all the way until he absolutely had to. While he got dressed, Thorn stood next to the bed, staring at Isa, her tail wagging steadily even though he was already out cold again. Lea laced up his sneakers, pulled the window shade down, and grabbed Thorn’s collar and leash, clicking his tongue softly. It took her a moment to tear her gaze away from Isa, but she followed Lea easily, accepting that he was the only one willing to accommodate her for now.

They had a pleasant and remarkably smooth walk. Lea had expected Thorn to hesitate or veer off the path every few steps, and while she did want to stop and smell nearly everything they passed, she was just as eager to get moving again. They managed a quick jog when they reached Central Square, still mercifully unpopulated in the early hours. Lea was out of practice, but he was starting to remember how nice it was to get up with the sun, and it was equally nice to have a jogging partner who actually enjoyed the activity. Isa had indulged Lea’s suggestion to go for a run together only once, and it had ended up being more of an imposition than an indulgence. Lea couldn’t remember ever hearing Isa fit so many unique complaints into the span of a single half hour. He would have been impressed if he weren’t so annoyed.

When they returned to their street, Thorn, who had been cooperatively sticking close to Lea’s side, suddenly pulled ahead, leading him to the apartment building as if he might somehow miss it. She guided them up the stairs and down the hallway, stopping and scratching frantically at their door. Lea had to make her sit down before he could so much as unlock it, and she barely obeyed, wiggling in excitement. He let go of the leash when he opened the door, knowing there was no risk of her running anywhere but straight inside. They’d had a nice walk, and even bonded a little, but it was abundantly clear who her favorite person still was.

By the time Lea entered the kitchen, Thorn was standing on her shaky hind legs, bracing her paws against Isa, who had wisely given up on trying to pour his coffee for the moment. He was still in pajamas, his hair a lopsided tangle, his eyes tired. He had clearly used the hour and a half of alone time to do nothing but sleep, only getting out of bed within the past thirty seconds or so.

Nevertheless, he greeted Thorn happily, if wearily, petting her and asking her if she had a good walk. To Lea, he simply said, “You look sweaty,” though he did grab a second mug. He only filled it halfway before Lea declined, claiming that the fresh air and exercise were more than enough to wake him up. Isa shrugged and added the coffee to his own mug, sipping it slowly as he watched Lea finally take off Thorn’s leash and start filling up her food dish.

“This was a huge help, by the way,” he said, gesturing to the two of them. “I really needed to sleep.”

“Yeah, no worries,” Lea said, giving Thorn’s scruff a brief scratch before letting her eat. “I mean, she’s my dog, too. Plus, it’s nice to have a jogging partner who doesn’t complain every three feet.”

“Good. I certainly won’t argue if you want to make a habit of this. But regardless, thank you.” Lea gave him a “you’re welcome” kiss, which Isa stiffly accepted before saying, “Now please go take a shower.”

By the end of the week, Thorn fully understood the division of labor in the household. While Isa remained her overall go-to person, they could always tell when she was eager to get out and stretch her legs, because she would suddenly glue herself to Lea’s side, shadowing him throughout the apartment. When he finally picked up his shoes, she was so excited that her body couldn’t contain it. She became a series of half-finished gestures as she tried to run to the door, then back to Lea, then in a semi-circle as she looked around for her own leash. Usually Isa would let Lea take her out for an hour or so on his own, but occasionally they would go out together during a free evening, taking Thorn to the dog park once the crowd had thinned.

They lobbed a tennis ball back and forth, letting Thorn run between them, until Isa said they were just teasing her and retired to a bench. He had brought a book, but it remained closed on his lap as he watched Lea wear Thorn out with a game of fetch. For all the rightfully-earned flak Lea received for having little to no upper body strength, he got some impressive distance with the tennis ball. It would often take Thorn a full minute to track it down, but in that time, Lea didn’t glance at Isa once. He devoted all his attention to Thorn so he could congratulate her as soon as she found the ball and encourage her while she carried it back.

When Lea started getting tired long before Thorn, he began throwing the ball straight up in the air to see if she could catch it before it hit the ground. It took her a few tries to understand where the ball was going, but soon she caught on, and they played this version of fetch for another twenty minutes or so. Finally, Lea sat down on the grass, and Thorn trotted up to him immediately, sniffing his face in confusion and concern, as though he might be hurt. He took the ball and rubbed her face, and she continued to sniff him, getting so close that he almost fell backwards. He held onto her for balance, which transitioned into playful wrestling. Thorn jumped back, startled, and Lea let her, but he beckoned her back quickly. While she didn’t seem to grasp that he was trying to play, every time he wrapped his arms around her she retreated a little less.

Isa watched them quietly, recalling how Thorn had fled and cried out at the slightest movement from Lea when they first met. She was learning his mannerisms now, seeing his body language not as a threat, but as a personal identifier. She had huddled in fear in the alley, not even letting him approach, and now they played together on the grass. Lea tested boundaries without overstepping them, roughing up her fur but always smoothing it back into place, and Thorn cautiously responded, still not always understanding the intent behind Lea’s gestures, but knowing it was safe not to understand.

They headed out once it started to get dark. Lea bounced the tennis ball down the path for Thorn a few times before they reached the park entrance. Isa put her leash back on, but he let her walk ahead so he could wrap his arm around Lea’s waist as the three of them went home.

Those types of scenes were the hardest for Isa to cope with. The vet’s speculation about dog-fighting had distressed him, but he’d been able to stomach it. It was the gentle moments in the dog park and the quiet evenings at home that had the potential to tear him apart. They would be sitting in the family room, not doing much of anything, and Thorn would approach Lea’s armchair, silently asking for affection. Lea would let her interrupt whatever he was engaged in, saying, “Hey, cutie. What’s up?” He’d scratch under her jaw, and once her tail started wagging he’d lower his forehead to hers, encouraging her to come closer and rest her chin on his leg as he rubbed her sides, her ribs already hidden under a layer of healthy muscle and fat.

The sight would hit Isa like an avalanche. All he could think about in these soft, ordinary moments was how long Thorn had spent living on the street, terrified of every single passerby but still making herself approach them. Scrounging for food that she was never guaranteed to get, and returning to that alley every night, putting herself to bed in that pitiful, corrugated den, alone, for no reason except to do it all again the next day.

The feeling wasn’t helped when Thorn, empathetic almost to a fault, left Lea to go to Isa instead, whining as she pressed her nose against his knee, and relieved when he raised his hands and stroked her head. Her wagging tail and attempts to lick his face made him smile but wipe his eyes briefly, which Lea tactfully ignored. Isa had always had a fondness for dogs, but while their pain was heartwrenching, it was their simple joy that unsettled him and filled him with inexplicable guilt. Thorn was already fully trusting of him and Lea, her lifetime of mistreatment and trauma melting away in the span of a month, as if she’d been ready to let it go as soon as an opportunity presented itself. The sadness could be endured indefinitely, but these fleeting moments of everyday happiness were enough to knock Isa off his feet if he wasn’t expecting them. It was an odd feeling—profound, but not heavy—and with another little scratch and a quick kiss on the top of her head, he sent her back to Lea.

Altogether, the adjustment period had gone much more smoothly than they expected, though they hit one of their few remaining hurdles about a week later. Lea and Isa were working on their _Game of Thrones_ marathon, planning to do a palate-cleansing rewatch of the first few seasons. With take-out and popcorn and wine on the coffee table, and Thorn happily chewing on a peanut butter bone in the corner, they settled in for the night, ready to knock at least three episodes off their list.

Half an episode in, Isa said with faint disdain, “You know, there are more decapitations than I remembered.”

“There are more naked women than I remembered,” Lea replied with the same tone. He couldn’t even make it to the end of the episode before losing interest, turning Isa’s head away from the screen when he insisted on trying to watch.

Isa protested lightly, letting Lea reposition them so they were as close to lying down as they could be, but saying through Lea’s attempts to kiss him, “Why—do you _always_—do—this?”

“Do what?” Lea asked without giving him a chance to answer. Isa pulled away, letting Lea busy himself by kissing his face instead.

“The couch isn’t big enough for this. Half the time, you almost fall off. The other half you _do _fall off.” Isa paused, letting Lea brush his lips just below his ear for a few seconds before he added, “We’re not teenagers anymore.”

“Yeah,” Lea said, helping Isa arrange a throw pillow under his head. “It’s still fun to act like we are, though. Reminds me of inviting you over to ‘I dunno, watch TV or something,’ and then spending like two hours making out on the couch.”

Isa shook his head, but he did pull Lea back down, always more prone to letting him have his way when he played the nostalgia card. And in spite of how cramped it was, and how Isa could feel one of the buttons on the couch cushion pressing into his shoulder, it _was _a little fun. Lea lay directly on top of Isa, still propped on his elbows but mostly resting his full weight on him, which was a double win for Isa, as it proved his point about the lack of space.

Just as Isa was about to pull Lea even closer, Lea jerked upright, pushing against Isa’s chest to do so. Isa swore, swatting his hands away and trying to catch his breath. While Lea rubbed his cheek, Thorn stood beside the couch, looking guilty and confused at how a simple touch of her nose, something that was usually perfectly fine, had caused such a negative reaction.

“Hey, girl,” Isa said, reaching out to her while Lea groaned and dropped his forehead to Isa’s chest.

“You know,” he said, while Isa beckoned Thorn with one hand and scratched the back of Lea’s head comfortingly with the other, “this isn’t something I anticipated having to deal with when we adopted a dog.”

“She’s just feeling lonely.”

“Isa, do _not_.”

But Isa moved over and patted the couch, somehow creating space for all three of them after insisting that there wasn’t enough room for two. Thorn hopped up and wagged her tail appeasingly while Isa assured her that she hadn’t done anything wrong, and Lea sat all the way up and crossed his arms as he went back to watching the show. After Isa made sure Thorn was settled in comfortably, he said, “I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Oh?” Lea scoffed. “When? The next time all three of us are watching TV? Or when all three of us go to bed?”

“Lea.”

Lea gave him a sideways glance, but he paused. Isa had a way of catching him like this, not with any outward change of expression, but with the sheer intent in his gaze. Isa ensured he had Lea’s full attention before repeating, “I will make it up to you later.”

Lea looked back and forth between his eyes for a few seconds. “…all right.”

They resumed watching the show, not bothering to rewind the parts they’d missed. (“Here, I’ll recap,” Lea said. “Tits and incest and still no goddamn dragons.”) After a while, Lea jokingly asked whether Thorn should be exposed to this kind of violence and adult content, leading Isa to give him a blank look and say, “She’s a dog.”

Another episode passed, and the room grew dark around them, until it was lit only by the TV screen. When Thorn was sleeping soundly at one end of the couch, Isa carefully moved to Lea’s side, leaning in to kiss his cheek and neck. Lea closed his eyes, tilting his head away to make it easier, but Isa whispered, “Come on,” and helped Lea off the couch, leading him back to their room.

“What about Thorn?” Lea said, feeling ridiculous for even asking.

“Let sleeping dogs lie,” Isa responded, shutting the door as quietly as he could. “We can take five minutes to ourselves.”

“Oh, wow. So, let me make sure I’ve got this straight: we snuck out of our own family room for a five-minute quickie, _just _so we wouldn’t wake the dog?”

“I can make it eight minutes if you drop the running commentary for once,” Isa said. As promising as that offer was, Lea nodded at the door.

“What if she wants to get in?”

“It’s good for her to spend time by herself. I don’t want her to think it’s the end of the world every time we go somewhere without her.”

Lea wasn’t sure he trusted that line of reasoning from the man who’d been absolutely doting on the dog since day one, but he didn’t care to argue. Isa worked efficiently, getting Lea down on the bed and pushing his shirt up without bothering to take it off. Lea reclined against the pillows, getting comfortable for the next eight or so minutes, though it was only a minute and a half before they heard scratching at the door.

“It’s fine,” Isa assured Lea before he had a chance to say anything. Lea tried to take him at his word, but when Thorn started to whine, he sighed.

“All right. Forget it.”

Isa paused, already gathering his hair behind his head. “Are you sure?” he asked. “She might just leave.”

Lea hesitated, hearing in Isa’s voice that he was completely willing to prioritize him right now, at least for the next six minutes and fifteen seconds. But Thorn whined again, and Lea tilted his head back, rubbing his face with both hands. “Yeah,” he said reluctantly. “It’s fine. Guilt’s not exactly a mood-setter.”

Isa finished tying his hair anyway and scooted back up, bringing one of Lea’s hands down so he could kiss his forehead apologetically. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Yeah,” Lea said again, openly annoyed as Isa went to the door. “I’m getting a little tired of hearing that, to be honest.” He pretended to still be annoyed when Thorn came in, greeting her with a snide, “Hello, you,” when she went to his side of the bed. But she sniffed his hair and wagged her tail, so relieved to be in their company again that he couldn’t help smiling and giving her a head rub.

The three of them lay in bed together for a while. Thorn spent some time by Isa’s side before going to her spot at the foot of the bed, resting her chin on the stuffed rabbit between her paws. Lea moved closer to Isa, trying to maneuver his legs around Thorn, and Isa settled against him, bringing Lea’s arm over his shoulders. He kissed Lea’s cheek, lingering for a long moment before he said, “Thank you, again.” Lea sighed.

“I like her too, y’know.”

“I know. But this is way outside what we planned for. You’ve been extraordinarily patient with all of this.”

Lea shrugged as he played with Isa’s hair. Isa closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling, but when he opened them again, he noticed Lea was smiling to himself. “What?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing,” Lea said, winding a lock of Isa’s hair together and laying it over his shoulder. “It’s just…I dunno. Adopting this dog, getting up with her in the middle of the night, watching her grow…realizing we had room in our lives for her after all. It’s kinda got me thinking…”

Isa’s expression was neutral, yet absolutely rapt with something akin to terror. Lea tipped his head up with his free hand and kissed him slowly, and Isa was holding his breath when they separated. Lea stayed close, looked Isa in the eye, and softly said, “Let’s never, _ever_ have a kid.”

Isa exhaled so suddenly that it woke Thorn. “You _dick_. Don’t _do _that,” he said, shoving Lea, which did nothing to stop him from cracking up. “You scared the _hell _out of me, Lea. _Fuck_.”

“Hey, my evening was totally derailed,” Lea said in his defense, still laughing as Isa took a hilariously deep breath to calm down. “I have to make my own entertainment here.”

Isa sighed and went to the bathroom, muttering something that sounded like it contained the phrase “sick joke” while Lea reclined with an altogether satisfied grin. “Got him,” he said to Thorn, who simply blinked in confusion.

Lea finally apologized as he passed Isa on his way into the bathroom, though Isa refused to accept the apology on the grounds that it was incredibly insincere, which Lea thought was fair. They reviewed their plan for tomorrow while Lea brushed his teeth, working out who would be around to make sure Thorn was fed and exercised. Lea finished rinsing, and he was just about to ask what his work schedule was like this week when he heard the bathroom door shut and lock. He looked up but had no time to brace himself before Isa was on him again, pushing him back against the counter and kissing him deeply. Lea let him for a few seconds, and then it was his turn to interrupt, laughing through Isa’s attempts to kiss him. “Did you _seriously_ just lock the door? She’s a _dog,_” he said, obnoxiously echoing Isa’s words from earlier, though he shut up fast when Isa shot back, “Would you like a blow job or not?”

Their final adjustment was one Lea had been eagerly awaiting since the beginning, though he winced at the price tag on every mattress they saw. “You remember now why we put this off for so long?” Isa asked as he led them through a labyrinth of displays, and Lea, unseen, stuck his tongue out as he followed along. When they found one that seemed suitable, Isa pressed his hand down on the mattress to test it while Lea checked the tag.

“Whoa. Okay, how’s this for a plan? We get a twin bed. You lie down first, I sleep on top of you, and we use the savings to buy Thorn a queen-sized dog bed.”

“How do you expect me to breathe?”

“I dunno. Same way you always do? You burrow, y’know. It’s cute and all, but man, is it weird to fall asleep with you next to me and wake up with you halfway under me.”

Isa rolled his eyes while Lea hopped up onto the mattress, sprawling until his long-limbed self took up almost half of it. “Roomy,” he said approvingly, shifting to test the feel of it.

“Well?” Isa said, waiting for the verdict. Lea moved over to make room, and after a moment’s hesitation, Isa sat down, scooting over so he could lie on his back beside him. Lea folded his hands behind his head while Isa laced his fingers over his stomach, and both of them stared up at the ceiling.

“So…what’re we looking for, exactly?” Lea asked.

“Support, I think. It should be firm. But not too firm.”

“Hmm. That’s not helpful.”

“No, it’s not.” Isa crossed his ankles. “Maybe we should just go the Demyx route and get a water bed.”

“You couldn’t pay me to have sex on a water bed. Sounds terrifying.”

“Ignoring the idea that there would ever exist a situation wherein I _pay_ you for sex…agreed. That seems like an embarrassing obituary waiting to happen.”

After a little more back and forth, they finally agreed that they’d found, at the very least, a good, suitable mattress, and they arranged to have it delivered within the week. They spent that morning disassembling the old bed frame and putting up the new one, which fascinated Thorn, though she fled to the kitchen as soon as she heard knocking. Isa comforted her while Lea answered the door.

“Someone here expecting a mattress?” the shorter of the two delivery men asked.

“That would be us,” Lea said. “Do you have it?”

The guy paused, looking back at the colossal mattress blocking the entire hallway. “Uh…yeah. This is it right here,” he replied, and Lea started to wonder if people were refusing to cut him any slack because his jokes were lame, or because they genuinely thought he was stupid. He signed for the delivery, and the guy asked, “You want a hand setting it up?”

“Oh, no thanks. I was hoping to throw my back out today.” And before the guy could wonder aloud if he was serious, Lea added, “This way.”

He only intended to guide them through the apartment, but it became clear that after hauling the mattress up several flights of stairs, they required actual help. The three of them struggled to maneuver it through the kitchen, where Lea was already too out of breath to snark at Isa, who still sat in the corner with Thorn. When they reached the bedroom, all of them set it down on the floor at the same time, huffing and wheezing.

“How’s it going in there?”

“Oh, _fantastic_,” Lea replied. “You’re welcome to see for yourself, you know.”

“Thorn’s still scared.”

Lea sighed, rolling his neck. “We just adopted a dog,” he explained to the delivery men. “She was a rescue. We’ve been trying to kind of rehabilitate her, but she’s still—what am I doing? You don’t care.” He called out to the kitchen again. “Isa! The faster this whole process goes, the faster the big scary strangers can leave.”

The delivery men exchanged looks as if they weren’t sure how insulted they should be, but this seemed to convince Isa, who appeared in the doorway a few seconds later, surveying the room. “Can I get anyone some water?” he asked.

The taller guy looked like he was considering it, but Lea said, “Are you kidding me? _Help_ us.”

With each of them taking a corner, they managed to get the entire mattress lined up on the frame. It suddenly seemed easy with four people, especially when one of them was Isa, who was the second shortest but clearly the second strongest of the group. He returned to Thorn as soon as they were done, leaving Lea to walk the delivery men back out. In spite of his earlier sarcasm, he thanked them wholeheartedly for their help, giving them an extra tip when they offered to take the old mattress off their hands.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Isa said as Lea closed the door.

“What? It’s for doing a good job.”

“It’s literally their _entire_ job. What are they going to do if you don’t tip? Drag the mattress all the way back downstairs?”

“Are you really making this argument? Where do you think that tip even came from? What do you think every single bill in my wallet _is_? If you want full control of our finances, then you can trot your ass onstage and earn the cash yourself.”

“No one wants to see that.”

“You’d be surprised,” Lea muttered as they returned to the bedroom to finish setting up. Thorn joined them now that things were quiet again, boggled by the new bed, trying to figure out what it was even though it was clearly just a bigger version of what had been there before. Lea gave her a gentle noogie as she walked by. “Still got that new mattress smell, huh?”

“I think she’s smelling the delivery guy,” Isa said as he tucked in the sheet.

“Yeah, what the hell was that? Cologne? Should’ve asked, it smelled great.”

“You can catch him if you hurry.”

“Nah,” Lea said with a laugh. “I’d rather give this baby a test run.”

“I’m sure it feels exactly the same as it did in the store.”

“Not if we break it in properly.”

Isa sighed and checked his watch. “All right,” he said, and before he could do anything else, Lea flopped down on the bed, stretching all his limbs without a single one hanging off the side. He exhaled happily.

“Perfect so far. I’ll give you the final verdict in eight hours when I finish my nap.”

“You have forty minutes until dinner.”

“I’ll take it,” Lea said, sitting up and patting the mattress. Thorn moved like she was about to jump, then stopped, revving and halting three times before she glanced at Isa. He jerked his head toward the bed, and she finally bunched herself up and jumped. Whatever she expected to land on, it wasn’t memory foam, and she stood with her paws apart, adopting the stance of a newborn fawn. Lea laughed at her but held his arms out, and she wobbled over to him carefully, letting him steady her while she tried to figure out what on earth she was walking on.

Isa went back to the kitchen while they got settled in. After half an hour or so, he left everything to simmer on the stove and went back to check on them, not for any particular reason, not even expecting them to have really fallen asleep. But when he pushed the bedroom door open, he saw Lea lying on his side, holding a pillow under his head, and Thorn curled up beside him, her tail wrapped safely around her, the tip of it tucked under her nose.

She woke up after a moment, sensing that she was being watched. She lifted her head a few inches, blinking until her eyes focused and she realized it was only Isa. With a yawn, she lowered her head again, going right back to sleep. Her movement stirred Lea, just enough for him to uncurl his fingers, working them into her fur before hugging the pillow closer and settling back in.

Isa considered getting his phone to take a picture, but he stayed where he was, content to watch the two of them from the doorway. Eventually, he returned to the kitchen, leaving the bedroom door open so they could wake up at their leisure to the smell of dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse the GoT reference. I wrote this last year. In the original draft, they were marathoning the series to build up their hype for the final season, lmao


	2. Time For Plan Beta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Braig, Demyx, Aeleus, and Ienzo vs. the Health Inspector.  
The rest of the crew is technically here too, but they don't show up in time to be of any help.  
I rewatched Fawlty Towers and all the farce episodes of Frasier to prepare for this one.

Health inspections at Higanbana occurred four times a year, and they always fell within the same week each quarter. Sark was dependable like that.

He never arrived on a Monday, however. One would think that would be the most sensible time to conduct an inspection, as the club remained closed until nine. But it would’ve been too predictable, and while Sark abided by his routine, he also liked to keep people on their toes. Ultimately, this worked to the Higanbana crew’s advantage: the Monday that preceded their inspection was dedicated to getting the club in order and resolving any maintenance issues they would have otherwise been content to ignore.

They didn’t _like_ Sark, because he truly didn’t strike them as the type of person who was meant to be liked. He was clinical and critical and strict and unyielding. But they knew what to expect from him, and he was very clear about what he expected of them. He piled every request and stipulation on them at once, but he didn’t neglect to mention anything. He didn’t try to catch them in a bind. He didn’t throw curve balls.

He didn’t show up dressed in a pinstripe suit, muttering, “Geez, Louise,” and marveling at the state of the place. He didn’t rifle through the items on Isa’s stand by the front door. He certainly didn’t use ballpoint pens, much less press them to his tongue before scribbling on a cheap notepad.

The man who had arrived at Higanbana—unannounced, on the Monday of inspection week—was _definitely_ not Sark.

“Excuse me?” Aeleus said, and the man replied, “Oh, hey, no problem. You’re excused, and thanks for asking.”

Aeleus had no idea what to make of that. Even Ienzo was taken aback. The man was absurdly tall and broad-shouldered, and his fingers were oddly gnarled. Most interesting was his hair: a little wispy, and rising off his scalp in a manner not unlike Demyx’s, though this man seemed to achieve that style without using half a bottle of gel.

Demyx and Braig exchanged bewildered looks while the man continued to poke around, making himself comfortable in what was generally agreed to be Isa’s spot. “So,” he said conversationally, “where’d Little Boy Blue run off to?”

It took a moment for anyone to answer, but eventually, Braig stepped up. “If you’re lookin’ for the manager, he’s out on a business venture at the moment.” _If that’s what you call shopping for fire extinguishers with your husband_, he silently snarked. It wasn’t really a two-person job, but nobody gave Lea any grief for tagging along. The fact that shopping for fire extinguishers seemed to qualify as a date pretty much spoke for itself.

The man glanced at Braig and did a double take. “Argh, matey,” he laughed, gesturing to the eyepatch. “You kiddin’ me with this?”

Braig’s expression both flattened and sharpened, and Demyx said, “Who…_are_ you?”

“Oh, where the hell are my manners?” He took out a leather billfold—crocodile skin, by the look of it—and started flipping through it to find his badge. “Hades, interim health inspector. Pleasure to meet me. Now, normally I’d go through this whole shebang with the manager, but as long as he gets the final report, we five can get a move on and put this thing to bed as soon as possible. Can I assume the Colossus or Long John Silver here will be giving me the grand tour?”

There was silence while Hades glanced among the four of them, until Aeleus, blunt as ever, asked, “Where’s Sark?”

“Sark’s dead. I’m running things now.”

Another pause, much more severe than the last one. Even Braig looked stunned, and Demyx said, “Sark’s _dead_?”

Hades shrugged. “Well, dead, on vacation, either way he ain’t here. And on a cosmic level, what’s the difference, really? Not to philosophize the day away—we’ve got a job to do. Eyepatch, you wanna step up and show me where the smoke detectors are in this place? I like to work from the top down, so we might as well start with the ceilings. Gonna need the locations of each and every one, give ‘em a whirl, and see some records of the last time the batteries were replaced. Think you can handle that to start with?”

“…I’m sorry,” Aeleus said slowly, “did you say _Sark_ was on a _vacation_?”

“Good _grief_, we still on Sark? That was like thirty seconds ago. We’re talking smoke detectors now—try to keep up.” Hades turned back to Braig while Aeleus glanced at Ienzo, who shrugged, looking as baffled as the others but slightly more amused. “All right,” Hades went on. “I’m gonna grab a few things from my car, and then we’ll get this circus rolling. Try not to miss me.”

He strolled back outside, whistling. Demyx waited for the door to swing shut before he held his arm straight out toward it and said to the entire group, “_What_.”

“Huddle,” Braig replied. No one moved, still reeling from Hades’s introduction, but Braig repeated, “_Huddle_,” and there was a quality in his voice that made them obey. He stepped out from behind the bar, joining them in a four-person circle with hilariously varying heights.

“Look,” Braig said, “I’m leveling with you all. There’s a _lot_ to do. Usually Mondays are our grace period, but…well. Instead, we’ve got _this_.”

“We’re gonna get shut down,” Demyx said—unhelpfully, but not baselessly. “Isa’s gonna come back, and the whole place will be shut down, and he’ll either throw us all a party or kill us in our sleep.”

“Relax. This is all shit we were planning to do today anyway. We’re just gonna do it a lot faster and in a _very_ specific order. No sweat,” Braig told Demyx, who had long since started sweating.

“We’re shorthanded right now,” Aeleus pointed out. “Without Isa and Dilan, it’s like we’re missing four people.”

“Yeah, but without Lea, we’ll have fewer distractions, so it balances out. Listen, I need you all to follow my lead. Isa would have you believe that we pass our inspections thanks to his rigorous and detail-oriented German nature, but the truth—”

“_Is_ he German?” Ienzo asked, as usual waiting until the least convenient moment to focus on the least pressing matter.

“Well, somewhere back along the line. Had a German name before he took Lea’s, anyway.”

“How…did you _know_ that?” Demyx asked.

“It’s my job.”

“It’s not, Braig,” Aeleus said, looking perturbed. “At _all_.”

“Look, I’ve got a lot more jobs around here than you people realize, and you’re about to see that for yourselves. Remember what this place was like before Isa, Aeleus? Before Sark? We passed inspections by the skin of our teeth, but we _always_ passed. Who do you think made sure that happened?”

“…Dilan and I assumed you were handing out bribes.”

“Well, I’m not opposed. But I’m not giving this guy a dime,” Braig said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the door. “I don’t know him. I don’t know what he’s about. Frankly, I didn’t even get a good look at his badge. So today, we’re gonna play by the rules and do this right, and for that to work, you’re all gonna have to do what I say, to the _letter_. I need my A team right now. And since they’re all out running errands, you guys are gonna have to pick up the slack.”

“Okay, _harsh_,” Demyx said with a glare. “Why are we the B team?”

Braig looked at him in utter disbelief. “You serious? Discount Lea, discount Dilan, and discount Isa,” he said, pointing at Demyx, Aeleus, and Ienzo. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“…I mean, you don’t need to _say_ it,” Aeleus muttered.

“Yeah, dude, I love Lea, but come _on_. I can play nine different instruments—_and_ I can sing, _and _dance, at the same time.”

“You can play nine different instruments at the same time?” Ienzo asked. Aeleus chuckled a bit, but Braig snapped his fingers rapidly in the middle of their circle.

“Hey, hey! Eyes front. I’m bein’ serious. You three are _absolutely _the B team, but you’re what I’ve got. We’re gonna get through this together, and then we can all go back to picking on and/or flirting with each other to our hearts’ content. Sound good?” Ienzo raised his hand. “Holy mother of god, Ienzo, _what_?”

“I don’t work here. I can just leave.”

Braig had been hoping Ienzo wouldn’t bring that up. He didn’t want to outright admit that he could use the kid’s help—the last thing he needed in his life was more debt. “Look, I promise if you stick it out for today and do exactly what I tell you to, I’ll give you a free pass on snarky comments for…a week.”

“A month.”

“Are you fucking with me right now? A _week_.”

Ienzo mulled it over, but when he caught Aeleus watching him out of the corner of his eye, he shrugged in compliance. Braig figured he was still prepared to duck out at the drop of a hat, and was simply hanging around to see how the situation would unfold until then. He’d expect nothing less and nothing more from the kid.

After shooting down Demyx’s attempt to get everyone to stack their hands in the center of the circle, Braig sent Aeleus to the back to scope out the Silhouette Rooms. He couldn’t send Ienzo for legal reasons, and he couldn’t send Demyx because he needed to know the job was getting done right without supervision. Instead, he told Demyx to quickly check the smoke detectors in the rest of the building. The pair headed to the back just as Hades returned, leaving Braig and Ienzo to contend with him. They didn’t say a word to each other, but they could _feel _the forced camaraderie growing between them.

“And then there were two,” Hades said. “Well, let’s hop to it, Slick.”

Braig was about to give him the finger guns, but Hades was quicker on the draw, already firing his off with a double click of his tongue and holstering it again before Braig even finished raising his hand. Hades gave him a grin full of oddly narrow teeth and moseyed off to check the first smoke detector.

“…you’re slipping,” Ienzo remarked. Braig gave him a withering look.

“Go keep an eye on Demyx. And check the offices while you’re at it.”

Ienzo opened his mouth to snark back, purely out of reflex, but he shut it again when he saw Braig’s expression and nodded, obeying him for now. He disappeared through the door to the back hall, and Braig followed after Hades, hoping beyond hope that there weren’t any issues with the numerous weak points that comprised the club’s fire safety system.

* * *

Demyx seemed to be doing well now that he’d been assigned a specific task, and he didn’t require Ienzo’s help. Not that Ienzo could reach the smoke detectors anyway, even with the aid of a chair. He wanted to check on Aeleus, if only to touch base with someone infinitely more normal and grounded in reality, but Ienzo wasn’t allowed in that part of the club, and he figured it probably wasn’t the best time, anyway. It was Aeleus’s job on the line, too, after all.

So Ienzo, for a refreshing change of pace, did exactly what he was told. Luckily for him, Marluxia was off-property more often than not, and Isa was too much of a workaholic to spend any considerable amount of time sitting down, leaving both their offices relatively untouched.

It was strange to be in those offices. Ienzo felt like he was trespassing in Marluxia’s space because he didn’t know him, and he felt like he was trespassing in Isa’s space because he _did _know him. But there was nothing personal to intrude on—just a plain and generic-looking office, with a desk and some shelves and a safe. Ienzo could count the number of time he’d seen Isa even come back here on one hand.

It would be a great spot for Braig to take his catnaps. As Ienzo tidied up, he wondered if the chance of being caught was low enough to be worth it. He was sure Braig had perfected the art of risk calculation, distilling the process down to an unscientific but unfaltering gut feeling.

Except where teenage blackmailers were concerned, Ienzo thought smugly. It occurred to him that his past interactions with Braig might count as extortion, though he technically hadn’t demanded anything in exchange for whatever nebulous threat or offer he had made. Ienzo pushed Isa’s chair in and hit the lights on his way out, thinking that if Braig chose to slide a free False Theory down the counter every now and then, it wasn’t Ienzo’s place to tell him not to. It was probably just Braig exercising that famous generosity he was so well-known for.

* * *

Hades struck yet another ridiculously smoky match to test the third detector and walked away when it started beeping, leaving Braig to stretch his arms above his head and wave a couple laminated menus until the smoke dispersed. “Are matches a standard tool for health inspections?” he couldn’t help asking. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen Sark whip out a book of ‘em.”

“Fastest way to get a good smoke going with the lowest risk of fire. Incidentally, also the most flavorful way to light a cigar.”

“Huh. You, uh, wouldn’t happen to have any on you?”

Hades raised his eyebrows. “This a smoker-friendly joint?”

Braig sighed deeply in disappointment. “No,” he said, maintaining his sanity by mentally listing, in ascending order of severity, all the crimes he would commit at this very moment for a cigarette.

Hades proceeded to the air conditioner when he finished with the smoke detectors, and Braig was almost excited. The thing was practically brand new after all the work they put into repairing it, and to his relief, Hades’s fingers flitted over it without pause. He made a brief check mark on his clipboard before moving on.

The door to the back hall swung open while Hades was checking the wiring up on the stage. Ienzo crossed the floor to meet Braig, reporting that the offices were all set and that Demyx and Aeleus were currently working on the bathrooms.

“Great,” Braig said. “Go tell them to hit the janitor’s closet next.”

Ienzo nodded, and he was about to leave when Hades called from the stage, “Hey, short stuff. C’mere for a second. I got a few questions for ya.”

Ienzo looked at Braig, who hesitated, which the teenager found surprisingly and upsettingly disconcerting. But Braig said, “Ehh…might as well buy us some time if you can. Try not to say anything incriminating.”

Ienzo shrugged and went to the stage to chat with Hades, and as Braig watched him go, he wondered if he should have put that idea in the kid’s head at all, even to dissuade him.

* * *

Across town, Dilan wrapped up his dental appointment much earlier than he anticipated, and the supply run Isa had asked him to make only took ten minutes. He could have made it back to Higanbana in under half an hour if he hadn’t chosen to walk through the more artsy section of the entertainment district. And if he hadn’t conveniently passed by his favorite indie movie theater. And if they hadn’t been showing _Bande à part_, which he hadn’t seen in ages.

Professionalism told him to get back to work, but his heart told him that it was a Monday, and they were well on track for Sark’s inspection later that week, and surely he could afford a quick matinee, as he was already strolling into the lobby…

* * *

“Is it s’posed to make this sound?”

“I don’t know,” Aeleus said, spotting Demyx as he teetered on a stool to put his ear up to the bathroom vent. “I try not to spend any time in here if I can help it.”

“For real? How long are your shifts, though?”

“We do have an employee restroom.”

“We have a _what_ now?” Demyx asked, twisting to give Aeleus an incredulous look and making Aeleus raise his hands to Demyx’s hips instinctively. The kid falling and cracking his head on the sink would _not _do wonders for the inspection report, let alone Isa’s mood when he finally read it. “Since _when_?”

“I don’t know. Since always.” Aeleus couldn’t help smiling a little. “Did Isa not tell you?”

“Damn it,” Demyx said, confirming Aeleus’s suspicions. “I’ve literally never even seen it before. Where is it?”

“It’s out of the way. Past Marluxia’s and Isa’s offices.”

“Oh, well, there you go. _That’s _the place to avoid.” Demyx hopped back down to the floor, using Aeleus’s shoulder for balance, and they gave the bathroom a final inspection. Aeleus handled the big picture stuff while Demyx tried to squeeze himself into nooks and crannies, being much smaller and much more flexible. Their contracted cleaners usually did a decent job, but the crew was trying to be on their A game for this inspection. _Or B game_, Demyx thought, a little spitefully.

He was wedged halfway under the sink, making sure none of the pipes were rusty or leaky, when Aeleus said, “Hey, uh. Not that it’s any of my business, but what’s in your back pocket there?”

“Huh?” Demyx said, scrunching his face up as he inspected the bottom of the sink. “Nothing.”

“No, there’s like…plastic or something.”

“Oh, _fuck_.” Demyx wiggled his way back out, and as he straightened up, he took the item in question out of his pocket, producing—under the harsh and unforgiving light of the bathroom—a surprisingly large bag of marijuana.

“…I thought you didn’t smoke pot,” was all Aeleus could think to say.

“I don’t! I haven’t even. I’ve just been stressing out a lot lately and Braig said he’d hook me up and I _thought _he was joking but he came in with _this_ today—”

“On the day of our health inspection?”

“Well, we didn’t know this guy was gonna show up! Y’know, we were supposed to have a slow day, and we knew Isa wasn’t gonna be here…” Demyx’s leg was getting restless. “Man, I _told _him I didn’t even really want it, or we could at least just _wait_ until this weekend, when I was gonna see him _anyway_, but he just comes up to me this morning and shoves this _thing_ in my pocket—”

“I don’t need the blow by blow, Demyx.”

“God, I completely forgot about it. We’ve been so busy.”

“Well, just put it back.”

“It doesn’t fit! You saw—it was already sticking out!”

Aeleus looked him over again. “…why are your jeans so tight today?”

“They’re not. They’re just my regular jeans. Hold up, do you think I’m putting on weight?” Demyx glanced at the mirror, standing on his toes to check himself out, and Aeleus rubbed his forehead.

“Demyx, just put it back in your pocket. It’ll fit.”

“It won’t! You’ve gotta hold it for me.”

“I’m not doing that, Demyx. Just calm down.”

“I’m calm. I’m calm as a cucumber.”

“He’s not going to notice. I promise.”

“_Duuude_,” Demyx whined, drawing the word out into three different syllables and pitches, “yes he _will_! _You_ did! Like, what if he asks me what it is?”

“He’s not a police officer, Demyx. Why would he even ask that? And if he _did_, well…I mean, I don’t usually condone this, but you could always lie.”

Demyx gave him an unexpectedly flat look. “Listen,” he began, “maybe I haven’t made it clear yet, but I do _not _thrive under pressure. If he asks me what’s in my pocket, I think you and I both know exactly what dumb shit is gonna come out of my mouth.”

Aeleus sighed. He liked Demyx, he truly did, but it was exhausting to work with someone so flighty and prone to panic. On the other hand, it was refreshing to deal with someone who had such sterling self-awareness. “Fine,” Aeleus said as he held his hand out, sensing that this was the quickest way to resolve the issue. “Just give it—”

The door swung open. Aeleus dropped his hand just as Demyx was about to pass him the bag, resulting in Demyx standing in the middle of the bathroom, his arm fully extended, and a large, transparent bag of weed clutched in his hand, unable to look more conspicuous if he tried. He looked around for a place to hide it and managed to shove it up into one of the hand dryers just in time.

Ienzo paused in the doorway. The other two were standing an odd distance apart, clearly having jumped into place as soon as they heard the door open. “Um,” Ienzo said, glancing between them. “Hey. Sorry to interrupt. Braig needs someone to fix up the janitorial closet so nothing falls out when you open it. Preferably within the next six minutes or so.”

Demyx squeaked out that he’d do it, but Aeleus said, “No, _I’ll _do it. You stay with Ienzo.”

Ienzo let Aeleus pass while he stared at Demyx, trying to figure out if he even wanted to know what had been going on before he arrived. Demyx returned his stare until he finally cracked under the silence and scrutiny. “So, quick question,” he said. “Do _you_ think my pants are too tight?”

Ienzo continued to stare, and then he slowly shut the door. He tried to do it with a blank expression, but he ended up reopening it slightly, just enough to give Demyx a more baffled look before closing the door all the way.

* * *

Time was of the essence, and Aeleus knew that, but it went against his grain to rush a job, especially something as methodical as organizing. As he stacked buckets and gathered mops and brooms, he couldn’t help wondering when exactly he and Dilan had stopped being able to order Braig around. It wasn’t a position of authority they ever abused, but back in the day, when there was a chore that needed to be done, all Dilan had to do was point it out, and Braig would take care of it at the next opportunity. Usually he was so time-efficient that he’d let the trash run double as his smoke break. He seemed to have cut down on that particular vice, at least, if not dropped it entirely.

Aeleus figured it was around four or five years ago that the dynamic shifted, around the same time Marluxia took ownership of the club. He tried not to dwell on it—it wasn’t like things were bad now. And it wasn’t like Braig was suddenly in charge. Isa was a firm but fair manager, and Braig…how did Dilan put it? He operated alongside the chain of command rather than within it.

Dilan had no shortage of descriptions for Braig—the less favorable ones tended to come out over beers at Highwind’s. He once referred to Braig’s employment at Higanbana as a symbiotic relationship, like a parasite that sucked the life force from his host while simultaneously doing whatever he could to ensure its continued survival. Aeleus had both loved and hated how accurate that description was. Isa had a way of making you fear the personal consequences of not doing what he asked, but Braig had a way of making you fear the natural consequences. It made something as routine as a health inspection feel like a matter of life or death, but it also made Aeleus feel like they were in capable—if somewhat creepy—hands.

He finished fixing up the supply closet, thinking it looked very sensible and orderly. The wall had made a funny sound when he leaned the ladder against it, but Aeleus chose to believe that was just a hollow spot rather than anything structurally unsound. He was eager to get out of the cramped space, anyway. He shut the closet door, opened it to make sure nothing toppled out, and then shut it again, figuring he’d continue doing a sweep of the back rooms and try to track down Ienzo.

* * *

Hades had gone all the way back to the front of the club, saying he wanted to check the coat area next. Braig was as annoyed by the man’s lack of rhyme or reason as he was relieved to get a break from him, opting to stay on his home turf by the bar. He rolled his neck, cracking it a few times and sighing in pleasure. As he turned around to survey the main floor of the club, he glanced at the back door out of habit and paused.

Demyx had frozen mid-step, one foot in the air, halfway between the back hall and the bar. He was hunched over as if he’d wanted to army crawl but had just enough foresight to realize that would be too extreme, leaving him with an uncannily Grinchlike posture.

“…you don’t have to _sneak_,” Braig said, as scathingly as he could while still keeping his voice low. “Just come get whatever you need.”

Demyx straightened up, relaxing a bit with Braig’s approval, and he arrived at the bar just as Hades returned from the coat closet. He was scribbling more notes on his clipboard, but when he glanced at the bar to continue his conversation with Braig, his eyes locked onto Demyx.

“Well, good morning, Starshine. Wondered where you scampered off to.”

Braig knew the exact look Hades was giving Demyx: like he’d zeroed in on the perfect individual to separate from the herd. Demyx did nothing to help his case by responding, “Oh, hey!” He sounded far too cheerful in his attempt to play it cool, and Braig’s stress levels reached catastrophic proportions when Demyx added, “Just grabbing some water.”

Braig gave him a subtle warning look, but Hades lowered the clipboard to his side and said, “Uh huh.” Demyx hesitantly reached past Braig to pick up a glass, like an alien wondering if he had selected the right tool for the job. He held it under the tap and inexplicably filled it all the way to the brim, and even more inexplicably lifted it in the air as if he were about to deliver some cryptic parting words or possibly make a toast, or simply to lend credibility to his obvious lie. With three judgmental eyes on him, he simply lowered the glass, stood still for a few seconds, and then hurried to the back, floundering his way to safety and leaving Braig to deal with the fallout.

Hades gestured after Demyx with his pen and said, “Weird kid,” before he began his inspection of the bar. Braig leaned against the counter, thinking he’d more than earned the right to relax for a moment, especially since he knew Hades wouldn’t find anything wrong with this area of the club, at least. But when Hades stooped down to check the storage shelves, Braig noticed Demyx and Ienzo at the back door again, silently trying to get his attention.

Demyx was mouthing a full sentence to Braig, but he exaggerated it to the point that Braig’s lip-reading skills were rendered null. He gave the pair an uncharacteristically open “what the fuck” look until Ienzo finally stopped facepalming long enough to mime using a screwdriver. It was terribly inexpert, the kid obviously having no skills to speak of with either mimery or screwdriving, but it got the point across.

Braig mouthed “Phillips or flat-head?” and Ienzo gave him a “what the fuck” look of his own until Demyx, bless his soul, made an X with his hands. Braig grabbed the appropriate tool off his shelf without looking, and while Hades was still crouched down, making sure the sink’s drainage pipes were up to code, Braig wound his arm up for a toss. Demyx shook his head and waved his hands frantically just as Braig lobbed the tool over Hades’s back.

It was an underhand throw, and a fairly gentle one, but Ienzo ducked like his life depended on it. Demyx’s bizarrely catlike reflexes took control of his arm, and through some serendipitous fluke, he managed to reach straight above his head and catch the handle of the screwdriver with his eyes squeezed shut. When Ienzo realized there was no resulting crash or impalement, he grabbed Demyx and dragged him back into the hallway, letting the door shut behind them. Braig withheld a sigh as he watched them go, reminding himself that he was _relieved _no one had gotten hurt.

* * *

“This is always coming loose,” Demyx said as he stood on the break room couch, tightening the screws on one of the vent covers. “This is the only place to relax around here, and it’s impossible with this thing rattling.”

“Why is it loose?” Ienzo asked, unplugging a couple appliances from a crowded outlet.

“Well, I’ve got a couple theories. I think Isa does stuff like tightening the screws when he’s stressed. He just goes around adjusting little things here and there to blow off steam and feel productive. He’s always been like that,” Demyx said with a fond laugh. “Back when we were kids, Lea would wear the most ridiculous outfits. He said symmetry was overrated. I totally agreed, but it drove Isa nuts. Lea would be telling us something and Isa wouldn’t even listen. He’d just be unbuttoning and rebuttoning Lea’s jacket, adjusting his scarf, making his sleeves the same length, that kinda thing. Lea’s fashion sense has really mellowed out—and so has Isa, honestly—but you’ll still catch him doing it every now and then. Think it’s just a habit at this point. Lea probably leaves things askew on purpose, just so Isa has something to do.”

Ienzo smiled a little, and Demyx tapped the vent. “Anyway, he’s probably been tightening these things way too hard and way too often, and that’s how you end up with a stripped screw hole. Obviously, I’m just making it worse,” he added as he tightened it further, “but at this point there’s not much else to do. My second theory is that Braig really does take naps in the air vents, and he’s too lazy to put the cover back on when he’s done.”

Ienzo chuckled, and Demyx examined his handiwork, scratching the side of his head with the screwdriver. “All right, I think this place is looking good. We should probably just check the fridge—”

The door flew open, startling Demyx for a second time, and he dropped the screwdriver on the floor with a yelp. Braig would have make some wisecrack about the noise if he didn’t look so pissed at the treatment of his tools.

“Careful with that thing,” he said, glaring as Demyx put a hand over his heart to slow it down and hopped off the couch to retrieve the screwdriver. “It’s an antique.”

“_You’re_ an antique,” Ienzo said, and Braig snorted.

“Wow. I was just bein’ a dick earlier, but you really _are_ a miniature Isa, aren’t ya?”

“Can we _help_ you with something?” Demyx asked, still trying to get over his surprise. “Where’s the guy, anyway? Did you leave him alone out there?”

“He still thinks he’s gonna find something at the bar,” Braig said, clearly proud of the fact that Hades would come up short. “How’s it goin’ in here?”

“See for yourself,” Demyx said, and Braig did a quick scan of the room, his eye knowing exactly which details to look for. He nodded slowly.

“Not bad,” he said. Demyx looked pleased, and Ienzo was a little annoyed at how complimented he felt. “You guys can go hide out on the main floor if you want. I’m just gonna let our guest check the bathrooms real quick, and then he should—”

“_Shit_.”

“…I mean, yeah. Can’t think of a better place to do it.”

“No, man. You have to stall him.”

“What’re you—”

They heard the door open down the hall, and Braig cursed himself. He should’ve planted some minor violation at the bar, just to buy time. Demyx’s face drained.

“Dude, I hid—you know—the stash. I stashed it.”

“_In the_—” Braig quickly lowered his voice and hissed, “In the _bathroom_? Of your _workplace_?” He noticed Ienzo trying not to laugh; the kid had obviously been hoping for exactly this kind of payoff when he agreed to stick around. “Hey, why don’t you wipe that smirk off your face while you’re still in cleaning mode, bucko? If he finds it, we’re telling him it’s yours.”

“My father would sue you for slander.”

“Oh, I’ll _bet_ he—”

“_Guys_,” Demyx begged. Braig sighed.

“Ienzo, help me distract—”

“No!” Demyx said, grabbing onto Braig’s arm with both hands. “He needs to be my lookout! I can’t remember exactly where—”

“Fucking _fine_,” Braig snapped, shrugging Demyx off. “I’ll do every goddamn thing around here, as usual. Ienzo, make sure Demyx doesn’t accidentally plant any more illegal substances around this place. _You_,” he added to Demyx, “get goin’.”

He grabbed Demyx by the back of his shirt collar and shoved him into the hallway, forcing him into a sudden and graceless ballet lunge just as Hades rounded the corner. Ienzo followed much more normally, which only made Demyx look all the more peculiar. Braig stepped out as they went down the hall and clapped his hands together. “So. I believe our next stop was the break room?”

“No, I’m, uh, _pretty _sure I said the bathroom.” Hades nodded after the pair. “Is that where Jumpin’ Jack Flash is headed?”

Braig shrugged. “Hey, when you gotta go, you gotta go.” Hades let it slide and went into the break room, and Braig followed, endlessly disappointed at himself for being outdone in the nickname department. Especially when it came to Demyx.

* * *

Operation Bathroom Stall was underway, and Ienzo wished someone else were involved in this little gambit, if only to appreciate his pun. He held the door open just enough to see down the hallway while Demyx desperately scurried from one corner of the room to the other, looking like a rat that had lost its pack.

“How did you _forget_ where you hid it?” Ienzo had to know.

“I dunno, man. I was freaking out. We thought you were the health inspector when you opened the door. I just panicked and did whatever I could.”

“Isn’t that what Lea says? Don’t think; act?”

“It’s don’t _wait_. You’re still supposed to _think_.” Demyx ran his hands through his hair, looking genuinely distressed. Ienzo watched his face grow a bit pinker, either from embarrassment or the physical stress of running around all day.

“Well…we can rule out the toilets, hopefully? And the urinals?”

“Yeah,” Demyx said, still poking around the bathroom helplessly. “God, Braig’s right. I’m a fucking airhead sometimes.” Ienzo was just considering leaving his post and giving him a hand with the search when Demyx brightened up, snapping his fingers. “Got it!” He darted to the hand dryers, more thankful than ever that they weren’t automatic, and after fishing around in a few of them, he finally extracted the bag with a triumphant, “Aha!”

Ienzo stared at him holding the weed aloft in victory, and he said, with something close to awe, “I can’t believe my father was right about you.”

“My pockets are still too small, though,” Demyx said, his mood dropping quickly. “Do you wanna, like…just help me out here?”

“I’m not touching that. Wait, is this why you were asking me about your pants?”

“It’ll only be for a second! Just until I can find a better hiding place.”

“You clearly can’t.”

“Dude—”

“Forget it. He’s coming.” And before Demyx could make any more appeals, Ienzo was out the door, having sated his desire for chaos and now ready to act in total self-preservation. After a moment of panic, Demyx stuffed the bag into his sneaker and tried to make a break for it. He almost made it when the door opened for him, and he skidded to a halt, two steps away from colliding with Hades and Braig.

“Whoa there, Speedy Gonzalez,” Hades said. “Where’s the fire?”

Demyx let out an off-key little laugh, and Braig fixed him with one of those stares that unequivocally _demanded_ that someone get their shit together. Demyx drew himself up straight, about to offer some normal, reasonable response to Hades’s casual question, and after four seconds of silence, he merely hobbled down the hallway, prominently favoring one foot over the other while he limped to freedom as fast as he could.

Both men watched him go. Hades waited until Demyx turned the corner to say, “Well, that was odd,” then walked into the bathroom. Braig continued to glare down the hallway as he considered keeping his flirting with Demyx much more subtle from now on. He wasn’t sure how badly he wanted to play up his attraction to this bonehead anymore. For now, though, he followed Hades inside to oversee the inspection, standing on the loose tile and managing to keep it covered with his foot the entire time.

* * *

Braig expected to conclude the inspection after the bathrooms, so when Hades insisted on scoping out the alley, he was ready to pull his hair out. The temperature was extraordinarily high, and Hades loved it, all but basking in the heat. “Man, this weather, huh?” he said, taking a moment to turn his face up to the clear sky and searing sun. “Why can’t they all be like this? Days like these, you never wanna get back inside, am I right?”

Braig gave him a forced smile, longing for Higanbana’s cool, dim interior. If he were completely honest, part of him was even longing for next quarter’s health inspection, when Sark would hopefully be showing his severe, stern, but suddenly much more welcome face.

When they finally returned to the club, the other three were already settled in, trying not to look as frazzled as they felt and failing miserably. Ienzo in particular looked wiped out, slumped at his usual table with Aeleus beside him. If the kid had come to the club looking like this on his first night, no one would have thought to card him.

“Well, that’s the whole place,” Braig said to Hades with a tone of finality. “Thanks for stopping by. It’s been a real pleasure.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Hades assured him. “But I still gotta hand this report over to the manager when he gets back, so I’ll be sticking around.”

_Fuck_, Braig thought. “It might be a while,” he said, much more diplomatically.

“I can wait.”

“…course you can,” Braig muttered, done entertaining the man, though he figured he may as well offer him a drink. Hades slipped a bill into the tip jar and brought his martini to a table in the exact center of the room, making himself comfortable while Ienzo and Aeleus stared balefully at the back of his head.

Braig rested his elbows on the counter, rubbing the back of his neck while he gave Demyx a sideways glance. “Can I get you anything, while I’m at it?”

“You’ve given me _more_ than enough for one day, dude.”

“Yeah, speaking of which, I’m gonna need that shit back.”

“_Please_. It’s caused me nothing but trouble so far. Hope you like essence of shoe sweat.”

“I’ve sucked down worse,” Braig said, and Demyx snorted. “Tell you what. You take me back to your place tonight, and we’ll burn through the entire thing and see what happens. Also, those musician hands of yours better be good at shoulder massages. Legitimately can’t remember the last time I was this tense.”

“Yeah, well. Hope you’re okay with a B-grade massage, ‘cause that’s what you’re gonna get.”

Demyx sulked as he waited for Braig’s comeback, but all he got was something lightly bouncing off the side of his head. He swatted at it automatically and looked down to see a cashew on the counter, and a bowl of them sitting by Braig’s elbow. Demyx rolled his eyes, trying to act annoyed. “You’ve got pretty good aim for a cyclops.”

“I was aimin’ for your ear.” Demyx chuckled, and while Braig wasn’t in the mood to engage in much more banter, he gave him a tired smile.

Any one of them could have retreated to the break room at this point, but no one did. It was like being the first person to finish a test but not wanting to be the first one to walk up to the teacher and hand it in. No one wanted that spotlight, even if it meant being allowed to leave. Plus, they were all interested in hearing the nicknames Hades would bestow on the others when they returned. Braig, for one, was just thinking about how lucky they were that the inspection seemed to go smoothly. He was never sure what to expect from a new guy, but at least he didn’t know the ins and outs of this place like Sark did.

They sat in silence for a long while, and Demyx was just about to say something unbearably inane like, “So, anyone seen any good movies lately?” when the front door opened. Isa, Lea, and Dilan walked in together, looking like they were in the middle of a very pleasant conversation.

Braig’s energy returned with a vengeance. He craved catharsis, and he was going to relish every single second of watching their collective good mood be destroyed.

“Ah,” Hades said, standing up and approaching the trio. “There they are: rhythm and blues.”

Lea and Isa paused, glancing at Hades, then at each other. Isa glanced at Hades again while Lea looked at Dilan, who shrugged, just as lost as he was.

“Can I help you?” Isa said automatically.

“Can you ever, bluebell,” Hades said, removing his report from the clipboard and handing it over. “Bada-boom. Full rundown’s here, but I’ll give you a little teaser: uneven step heights on the stage. No return on the handrail. Poor lighting at the entrance. Improper bathroom ventilation, resulting in mildew buildup. Loose screws on vent covers. Loose floor tile in the bathroom.”

Braig was ready to erupt at that last one, and he truly thought he was going to lose it when Hades added, “Oh, and a broken air conditioning filter, improperly held together with duct tape.” He’d _watched_ the man check that appliance. The only thing that was getting him through this ordeal was watching Isa’s expression go from mildly happy to mildly confused, to completely and utterly blank. He stared at the report in his hand, then looked up, blinking.

“Where’s Sark?”

“Takin’ a little R&R. I know,” Hades said when Isa gave him a bewildered look. “Your cohorts here didn’t believe me, either. But I’m sure you’ll be seeing him again next quarter, so don’t worry your pretty little heads.”

Hades started putting his things away while Isa stared at the list, and Lea and Dilan peered over his shoulder to get a look at it. “Well, it’s been a blast,” Hades said, sliding his notepad back into his jacket. “Good talkin’ to you, small fry. And hey, Long John, thanks for the drink. A little stiff, but nothin’ I’m not used to. _Arrivederci_.” And as suddenly as he’d arrived, he was gone, waltzing out the door to hopefully never return.

Braig exhaled for what felt like the first time in hours. Dilan held his hand out curiously for the report, and Isa passed it to him, unable to get his head around it at the moment anyway. He and Lea put the fire extinguishers down on the table while Dilan flipped through the pages. “Well, sounds like you guys took care of the cleaning for us,” Lea said. “Thanks a ton.”

Even Aeleus looked unamused at that, and Dilan raised his eyebrows at the report. “He cited us for the dumpster being _two inches_ too close to the door.” Lea shrugged.

“It’s technically a fire hazard.”

“_You’re _a fire hazard,” Isa replied, and Lea gave him a quizzical look.

“You tryin’ to flirt with me? I genuinely can’t tell.”

“Hah,” Dilan said, continuing to scan the report. “The bar is the only area of the club he didn’t cite for any violations. Figures.”

Braig looked satisfied, and while Isa hated seeing that smug expression on his face, no one could deny that he’d earned it. “Well,” Isa said, taking a seat near Aeleus and Ienzo, “I suppose that was bound to happen.”

“Damn straight,” Braig said. “I’ve been carrying us through these inspections since before you started working here. That’s what years of crime scene cleaning gets you, I guess.”

Everyone was either too tired or too shrewd to ask him to elaborate, though Demyx said, “Geez, man. Is there any job you _haven’t _done?”

“Bartending,” Lea said, which was far from true, but the set-up was too good to resist. It got a smirk out of Isa and a, “Ha, nice,” and an approving shoulder pat from Dilan. Braig waved his hand at them and finally got around to making himself a drink while Demyx hopped off his barstool.

“Well, I’m taking an hour-long break,” he announced. “This has been, without question, the most stressful day of work I’ve ever had.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Isa said as Demyx retreated to the break room. He accepted the report back from Dilan and began to peruse it himself, glancing at Aeleus briefly. “Was it as bad as they’re making it sound?”

“About as bad as you’re probably imagining,” Aeleus said honestly. “Not too many snags, I guess. Just a lot of hustling.”

“Well, the report doesn’t look too worrisome. They say that when inspectors focus on little things like this, it means they’re _trying _to find something. So, overall, we’re doing well.”

“At least he never found the weed,” Ienzo offered. Isa looked up, his gaze shifting from Ienzo to Aeleus, and then back to Ienzo for a moment before he returned to the report without a word. The boy had gotten enough amusement from the Higanbana crew’s expense for one day, if Braig’s uncharacteristic weariness was anything to go by, and Isa refused to give him any more ammo. Plus, he figured the less he knew about this little anecdote, the better.

Things were just starting to go back to normal when they all heard a sudden crackling and a _fwoom_ from the break room, followed by Demyx saying, “Ah, rats.” With a sigh, Lea hauled himself to his feet.

“Perfect timing,” he said, grabbing one of their brand new fire extinguishers and heading to the back to rescue his friend from his own microwaveable dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapters. I'm not even gonna lie. I was literally cackling as I wrote it.


	3. Just Stop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback chapter; takes place when Lea's ~16 years old.  
Characters: Lea and his mom.

Lea was a more responsible teenager than most people gave him credit for. To the outside observer, he was little more than a class clown, incapable of taking anything seriously. But he was dependable. He was consistent with his chores and daily routines. And he had a very, _very_ good memory.

Certainly good enough to recall whether or not he had filled his bathroom drawer with a veritable stockpile of condoms.

Condensation formed between Lea’s bare feet and the tile floor as he stared at the colorful array of small, square packages that sat beside his floss and comb. He shut the drawer, looked up, furrowed his brow at his reflection, and then opened the drawer again.

They weren’t even all the same brand. It looked like someone had grabbed a handful of free samples and deposited them here while he was out of the house. Some mystical condom fairy, leaving a humble but generous offering of prophylactics in his bathroom drawer.

He wondered if his mother—who had gotten pregnant at age sixteen and now worked in a college town medical clinic—had any idea where this oh-so-subtle gift had come from.

He sighed and scooped the condoms up, inspecting all corners of the drawer to make sure he hadn’t missed any. He would bring them to his room, hide them incredibly well, and never, ever speak of this again.

Later that week, when he went to the bathroom before bed, there they were again. This new pile was smaller than the last, but just as presumptuous, and Lea once again met his reflection’s eyes with a “you seein’ this?” look. He tapped his foot in agitation while he considered how to handle this. His mother was working a late shift that night; he couldn’t confront her, even if he thought he had it in him to do so. In the end, he simply brushed his teeth a little more aggressively than usual, gathered the unasked-for gifts, and added them to what had now technically become a stash in his sock drawer. Any embarrassment he felt was overpowered by resentment that his mother had turned him into a condom hoarder.

But there were worse ways for a parent to react to the fact that their child was growing up and discovering their sexuality. So Lea turned off the lights, went to bed, and reminded himself that while his mother’s gestures may have been awkward, they were well-meaning at heart.

* * *

Once was an anomaly. Twice was a lapse in judgment. But thrice was a pattern, and patterns could not be broken with evasion or passivity. So Lea—in what was perhaps not the most tactful or prudent decision of his life—approached his mother at the washing machine on Sunday afternoon, said, “Okay, _look_,” and then wilted as soon as she looked at him.

“…yeah?” she asked when he went quiet. “What am I looking at, here?”

“…okay,” Lea said again, in a clear attempt to psyche himself up. “So, I was _really_ hoping to avoid this, but apparently we need to have, like…a conversation about it.”

Catherine hefted the laundry basket from her hip to the top of the dryer so she could give her son her full attention. “Sure,” she said. “What’s up?”

She had no idea what he was about to hit her with, he realized. Even after her little supply runs over the past week, her commitment to discretion was so strong that she couldn’t even _conceive_ of him broaching this subject willingly. In that moment, Lea swore he felt generations upon generations of emotionally repressed, Irish-Catholic ancestors cringing in their graves, their secondhand embarrassment transcending the boundaries of life and death.

Well, stubbornness ran in the family, too, Lea thought. The best course of action was to avoid conversations like this altogether. But the next best thing was to just dive in.

“Okay, so, here goes,” Lea began, clearing his throat when his voice cracked. Catherine raised her eyebrows.

“Do you need some water?” she asked. As a nurse, she had asked that question hundreds of times, and she had heard hundreds of responses.

And not one of them—in the entire history of her medical career—was as much of a curve ball as, “Why do you keep giving me condoms?”

It was a pretty straightforward question, yet it took Catherine a few long, agonizing seconds to come up with an answer. “Uh,” she finally said. “I just thought…it’d be helpful?”

Lea scuffed his shoe on the floor. “Well…can ya knock it off? I’m runnin’ out of hiding spots.”

“You don’t have to _hide_ them, Lea.”

“Not from _you_.”

A small, timid part of Catherine’s brain suggested going to the family room to discuss this properly, and the rest of her brain retaliated so viciously that it might have shut down that particular fold for good. Like hell would they discuss this _properly_. They had started this the Quinlan way, and they were going to finish it the Quinlan way: by continuing to stand in front of the washer and dryer, in the most awkward area of the house—not quite a room and not quite a hallway—and drag their feet through this ordeal until one or both of them dropped dead from sheer embarrassment. In her professional opinion, it was a perfectly legitimate cause of death (they didn’t call it “mortification” for nothing), and in her personal opinion, it was a perfectly valid excuse to end a conversation.

“Look,” Catherine said, “just…I dunno. Just keep them in the bathroom drawer until…y’know…you need them.”

Never in her life had she seen her son’s face turn so red so fast, all the way to his ears. “I can’t keep them in the freakin’ drawer. What if I have a friend over and they need to use the bathroom, and there’s like fifty million of these things lying around? _Think_ about it, Ma.”

“I _am_ thinking, Lea. Don’t be rude.”

“I mean, every day I wake up wondering where I’m gonna find the next batch of these things. It’s like a sex ed Easter egg hunt in this house. I haven’t had cereal all week ‘cause I keep thinking, what if I start to pour and a friggin’ condom lands in the bowl?”

“All right, give me _some_ credit, please,” Catherine said, trying very hard not to laugh. “You know what they say: it’s better to have them and not need them—”

“—than need and not have, yeah, yeah. That applies to literally everything in the world, by the way, so. Kinda goes without saying.”

Catherine rubbed her eyes. “Look, I get them for free, okay? Just take them and be grateful you have a cool mom who works in a medical facility, and we won’t have to talk about it anymore.”

“Why so _many_ though?” Lea went on, plainly determined not to stop talking about it. “That’s what’s really weirding me out.”

“I don’t exactly keep count. They’re like free napkins—I just grab a handful whenever I see them.”

“A handful every few _days_? How much sex do you think we’re _having_?”

“I don’t know, Lea!” Catherine said, unable to pretend that she wasn’t as frazzled as he was anymore. “I don’t _want_ to know! Just be safe!”

“I _am_—or I _will_ be—_god_, let’s just stop _talking_ about this already.”

“_You_ brought it up!”

Lea grappled with his frustration for a few seconds before throwing his hands in the air and giving his mother the eloquent response of, “_Ugh_!” He stormed off without another word while Catherine rolled her eyes. Throughout the years—the last few, in particular—Lea had gotten much better at managing his annoyance, his anger, and his loneliness, but he still had a tendency to resort to dramatics when he was embarrassed. Catherine shook her head and finished loading the washing machine, asking herself where oh _where_ he could have inherited a trait like that from.

* * *

They wisely spent the rest of the afternoon apart, and by the time they reconvened for dinner, they were ready to cut each other some slack. Lea set the table, and Catherine loaded his plate with food. Lea said the sweet potato was good, and Catherine thanked him and passed the cinnamon across the table in case he wanted more. He asked a few questions about work, she asked a few questions about school, and all in all, they came very close to having a pleasant and perfectly normal dinner.

“…so…” Lea said, and Catherine used every ounce of willpower in her body not to sigh.

“Hmm?” she said, as if she didn’t know which brutally uncomfortable conversation topic he was about to dredge back up. Lea divided all of his remaining food into groups, separating the peas from the potatoes from the chicken, before he continued.

“So…you got this shit for free at work, right?”

“Lea, c’mon, language. We’re at the dinner table.” She raised her fork halfway to her mouth before remembering that she had to actually answer his question, not just admonish him. “And, yeah.”

Lea nodded slowly, undoing his careful work by mixing the peas into the potatoes. “Can you, like…get other stuff for free there, too?”

Catherine indulged in a sigh after all. It had been a while since she’d had a family dinner this awkward, though she liked to think she’d come a long way since then—she was eating the sweet potato this time, at least. She just wanted to finish her meal in peace, put the dishes in the sink, and go out to the family room to have a real, sit-down discussion about all of this.

But as she watched Lea play with his food, as if he were desperate for something to fidget with and take the focus off his own discomfort, she resolved to have this conversation here and now. They could carry it over to the family room after dinner if they needed to, but she wouldn’t leave him in suspense until then.

“Yeah,” she said. “I mean, we have free samples and stuff. But—and this is just something to consider? If you’re too embarrassed to go down to the drugstore and buy whatever you need yourself…then maybe you’re not quite ready to need it.”

She could hear his leg growing restless under the table, and he leaned on his elbows, hunching a little over his plate. “Look,” she went on, “this is as awkward for me as it is for you. Trust me. And I know there’s a lot you’re gonna be figuring out for yourself—regardless of whatever you might’ve already figured out, or tried figuring out for yourself—or _yourselves_, I guess—”

“Hey, can you just, like, poison dinner next time? Just put me out of my misery? That’d be great.”

She took his point, however sarcastically he’d chosen to deliver it. “I know I’m not making a great case for what I’m about to say. But you can talk to me if you need to. Or want to. If you need help, or you’re feeling confused, or…I don’t know.” She gave up on trying to eat for the moment and sat back in her chair. “I’ve known for a long time that once we got to this point, there wouldn’t exactly be a lot of guidance I could give you. But…if you feel like talking—or venting, or anything—you can always come to me. Doesn’t matter how embarrassing it is,” she added. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Lea’s face was so red that he could feel his cheeks tingling. He refused to look up, but as he continued to mess with his food, he said with what could only be described as disgruntled fondness, “Yeah, well…that was a lot of awkwardness to tell me something I already knew.”

Being able to respond with a snarky comeback made him feel a little better, and a few seconds later, he was rewarded with a pea bouncing off his forehead, which his mother had catapulted from her spoon. “What the hell,” he said, wiping his face.

“Eat your vegetables,” Catherine replied while he ruffled his hair to make sure no other projectiles had landed in it. When he confirmed that his hair was safe, he picked up the pea and tossed it back to her.

“Fine. But this one’s yours.”

After dinner, while Catherine washed the dishes and passed them to Lea for drying, she said, “Hey…while we’re on this topic—”

“Oh my _god_.”

“You started it,” she pointed out. “My only concern here is making sure you’re being safe and responsible, all right? That’s rich coming from me, I guess, but…still. I’m a nurse, and I’m your mom. Your well-being is my top priority.”

“Okay, great. Thanks. Good talk.”

Catherine ran the sponge in a slow circle around the dish in her hands. “It’s just…about Isa.”

Lea’s heart thudded to a halt. It was no secret that he and Isa were in a relationship, and had been for the past couple years. For the entire day, it had gone without saying that Isa was the implied third party in their horribly awkward little talks.

And now that it had been said, it was suddenly very, _very_ clear to Lea that his mother was right. He wasn’t ready for anything.

Thankfully, Catherine seemed to be changing the direction of their conversation. “Like I said: as long as you’re safe, that’s all I really need to know. It’s just…”

Lea glanced at her, his curiosity outweighing his embarrassment. “What?”

Catherine finally rinsed the dish she’d been washing for the past few minutes and handed it over. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “He’s grown up so much. You both have. But sometimes I feel like if I go too long without seeing him, he’s…quieter, the next time he comes around. Or not quieter. Like…it takes longer for me to get a conversation out of him.” When Lea didn’t say anything, Catherine shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m imagining it.”

Lea finished drying the dish, set it down, and picked up the next glass. “You’re not.”

Catherine glanced at him, but he didn’t return her look. He moved the towel slowly around the glass, methodically drying every drop of water and polishing off the fingerprints he left behind. “Lea,” she said quietly, “is there anything you want to tell me?”

He stared ahead for a few seconds, then shook his head and picked up the pace, pulling the towel out of the glass and setting it with the other dishes. “Nah,” he said. “Just a different vibe at his house, I guess. You know his dad’s not the most fun person in the world.” He shrugged. “I try to get him to come over here whenever we can.”

“Good. He’s welcome anytime.”

“Yeah. He knows.”

Catherine nodded. “Well, regardless. He just seems a little nervous to me, like there’s always something on his mind. Maybe I’m going into ‘mom mode’ too much. But I worry about him.”

Lea glanced at her—not _up_ at her anymore, she realized, wondering when exactly he’d gotten so tall. “I don’t know,” she said again, feeling like she’d been saying it a lot lately. “Sometimes he comes over and everything’s fine, and sometimes, something just feels off. Like he’s watching his step. So…whatever you do, or whenever you decide to do it, just, y’know…look out for him. Make sure he’s all right with everything, because he doesn’t always speak up on his own.”

Lea didn’t respond except to shake his head faintly. “I _know_ this is an uncomfortable topic,” Catherine insisted, “but it’s important.”

“Ma,” Lea said before he started to laugh. Catherine frowned.

“What?” she asked, and Lea only laughed more. “Lea, seriously. What?”

“You—” He snorted before reining his laughter back in. “Ma…who do you think I’m _dealing_ with here? He _loves_ to tell me when I do something wrong. I can’t get away with shit around him.”

“…yeah?”

“C’mon, you’ve heard him. He can’t go a single day without roasting the hell out of me and Demyx. Don’t think you don’t get dragged into it, too, by the way.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just last week, I picked him up for a date, and the first thing he said when he got in the truck was, ‘Your mother lets you leave the house dressed like this?’”

Catherine blurted out a laugh in spite of herself. “What were you wearing?”

“My tackiest outfit, apparently.” Catherine smiled and shook her head, and Lea said, “Look…I get it. But you don’t have to worry, all right? We…y’know. We’ll be fine.”

“Good. And I know. But I’m your mom. Worrying’s part of the job description.”

“…well, can you keep it to yourself about this? It’s weird as hell.”

“Will do.” Lea nodded in satisfaction and no small amount of relief, and Catherine glanced at him. “…too embarrassed for a hug?”

Lea sighed, a little over-the-top for such a simple request, but he turned his palms toward her in a non-verbal “go ahead.” She took off her dish gloves and wrapped him up in an unexpectedly snug embrace, trying to feel like she was still holding her child even as their conversations became increasingly more adult, and even when he seemed to grow taller than her by the day. She squeezed him a little tighter. “You’re a good kid,” she said, rubbing his back before letting him go.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. Catherine ruffled his hair, then started putting her gloves back on.

“All right, you’re off the hook. I’ll finish up here. Go do some homework or something.”

Lea nodded and made his retreat, planning to spend the rest of his Sunday doing anything _but_ homework. He got as far as the kitchen doorway, then paused. “Oh, hey, so…you’re gonna, like…cool it with the condoms for a while, right?”

Catherine laid her hands on the edge of the sink, sighing deeply. “_Yes_, Lea,” she said. “I am going to cool it with the condoms.”


	4. Sharing Is Enabled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Ienzo, Ansem, and—drumroll, please—the Twilight Town kids! aka the actual greatest trio in the KH franchise.

Ienzo wasn’t usually in the habit of stopping people on the street, but he wasn’t usually in the habit of running into people he knew, either. Especially in Twilight Town.

As soon as he caught the kid’s attention, he realized that he had no idea what to do with it. He wasn’t even sure why he’d tried to get it in the first place. Perhaps he was simply acting on the rarely-used instinct of “hey, I know that guy!”

His hesitation turned into outright regret when the kid furrowed his brow, trying to recall Ienzo’s face—what little he could see past his hair, anyway. Ienzo almost backed out, but before he could think of a way to excuse himself, the kid’s face lit up in recognition. “Oh, hey! Radiant Garden, right?”

“Yeah,” Ienzo said. “Uh…Higanbana.”

“Right, right! Sorry about that—I’m not so great with faces, you know, seeing someone ‘out of context.’” He held out his hand. “Forgot if I introduced myself already, but I’m Pence.”

“Ienzo.” He shook Pence’s hand, feeling like maybe it was too formal a greeting for a couple of high schoolers, though Pence seemed pleased.

“So,” he said when they let go, “what brings you to Twilight Town? You don’t live here, too, do you? I feel like I would’ve seen you around.”

“No, my grandfather lives here. I’m visiting him. It’s a monthly thing—well, _ideally_ it would be monthly. School’s been pretty busy,” Ienzo explained, not sure why he felt the need to explain at all. He hadn’t been asked. But Pence nodded knowingly.

“Woof, I hear ya. College applications, am I right?”

“Yeah.”

They shared a brief, awkward nodding session, which Ienzo automatically assumed was his fault, for initiating the conversation in the first place. But Pence seemed to be shouldering the burden of awkwardness just as much as Ienzo was, if not more so. “Well,” he began, “if you weren’t visiting family, I’d ask if you wanted to swing by the Struggle tournament. That’s where I’m headed, anyway.”

“…the what?”

“The Struggle tournament? It’s a huge deal here. They have matches all summer long, and this weekend is the semifinals.”

“…so, it’s a…what, a sports competition?”

“Yeah. Basically, you carry around a net of these foam balls on your back, like those wimpy dodgeballs we used in, like, grade school? And then you _whap_ your opponent with a bat and try to steal their balls. Whoever has the most at the end is the winner.”

“…huh.”

“…what? You guys don’t do Struggle matches in Radiant Garden?”

“No, we mostly stick to really obscure sports, like softball or soccer.”

Pence snorted. “Yeah, I guess it sounds kinda weird, now that I’m describing it out loud. Must be a local thing. But it’s a real staple of this town.”

Ienzo nodded, feeling a little odd. It wasn’t like he spent a lot of time in Twilight Town, but he’d been coming here to visit his grandfather since he was a child. And while Struggle matches didn’t exactly sound like his preferred pastime, it was starting to feel strange that he hadn’t so much as heard about them until now.

And on the topic of things he hadn’t heard, Ienzo realized that Pence was still speaking, and that he’d missed the majority of what he’d said. “Sorry, I spaced out for a second. What was that?”

Pence looked reluctant to repeat himself, though it seemed to come from apparent shyness more than annoyance. “I was just saying…my friends like to participate in Struggle matches. They’re actually competing in the semifinals. I never do—not really my scene—but it’s always fun to go and cheer them on.” He scuffed his shoe on the sidewalk, deliberately stepping on his overly-long shoelace. “I dunno how long your visits typically last, but if you’re free anytime this afternoon…”

Ienzo hesitated. “Maybe,” was all he could manage to commit to.

Pence beamed. “Cool. The tournament’s at the Sandlot.” Ienzo nodded slowly, reasonably sure he knew where that was. “But if you can’t make it, we’re all probably gonna head to Sunset Terrace afterward. Just to grab some ice cream and hang out. If you wanted to come along…”

Ienzo didn’t even have a chance to feel surprised by the invitation. Instantly—reflexively—he experienced a one-man Struggle match of his own, as he desperately tried to come up with an excuse to get himself out of this spur-of-the-moment social obligation.

“It’s a pretty small group,” Pence went on, oblivious to Ienzo’s anxiety. “Just me and a couple friends, super casual. We just like to hang out there to cool off after the matches. You know the big hill?”

“…vaguely?” Ienzo said, embarrassed once again by his woeful ignorance of Twilight Town’s layout. “I know _of_ it.”

“Just hop on the eastbound tram from the center of town, ride it all the way to the end, then head up the stairs straight ahead of where it drops you off. You can’t miss it.”

“You’d be surprised.”

Pence laughed, generously focusing on the “humor” part of Ienzo’s self-deprecating humor. “Well, uh…here.” He pulled a short pen and several other odds and ends out of his pockets before fishing out a scrap of paper. As he scribbled down ten digits, he said, “If you get lost somehow, just give me a call. Or if you maybe…wanna hang out some other time…?”

Ienzo accepted the paper and stood there blankly, unsure what to say. “Uh,” he managed, following a little jarringly by, “huh.” It didn’t sound like the single, cohesive reply it was meant to be, but Pence seemed satisfied with it.

“All right, well…see you later, hopefully?”

“Sure,” Ienzo said, neither accepting nor declining Pence’s offer, but simply acknowledging it. Pence gave him a friendly wave, then put his hands back in his baggy pockets and headed off down the road. Ienzo waited until he was around the corner before he folded the paper up, turning the torn edges into neat, perpendicular lines. Once he finished that compulsive little task, he carefully slipped the paper into his own pocket and continued on his way, heading toward his grandfather’s mansion through the familiar forest path.

* * *

Anywhere else in Twilight Town, the summer sun would have been just a bit too hot, but the trees kept the entire forest in a bubble, pleasantly cool and delightfully quiet. Ienzo had spent many afternoons here, sitting in the parlor while a gentle breeze rustled the foliage outside the windows. His visits were always more or less the same: Ansem serving tea, Ienzo asking questions about the lab and answering questions about school, both of them enjoying the peace of the mansion. Other teenagers might have found this routine boring after a handful of visits, but Ienzo thrived on it. He had always derived comfort from routines, finding them refreshing and rejuvenating instead of stale or stifling.

Today must have been different, however. A mere forty-five minutes into their visit, Ansem abruptly said, “Am I keeping you from something?”

“Hmm?” Ienzo said, glancing at him. “No, of course not. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that you keep looking out the window. And at the clock.”

Ienzo was surprised to hear that. He’d never been much of a window-gazer, and if he were staring at the clock as often as Ansem claimed, then he should’ve had a better idea of what time it was.

He tried to shrug it off, but Ansem was watching him, so he said, “I just…might have plans. Well, not _plans_, but…an invitation, I guess.”

“Oh? To what?”

“…a Struggle match?”

Ansem paused. “…are you…participating?”

“Of course,” Ienzo said. Ansem chuckled, accepting his blatant and sarcastic lie to such a ridiculous question. He glanced at the clock for Ienzo.

“Well, those are usually wrapping up right about now. I believe the finals are this afternoon—”

“Semifinals.”

“…but even if you left now,” Ansem went on, curbing his surprise a little better than before, “I doubt you’d make it there in time.”

“That’s all right. I was actually…kind of thinking about meeting a few people afterward.”

“Really? Here in town? I thought your friends lived in Radiant Garden.”

“Yeah, they’re not really…friends…”

Ansem gave him a puzzled look, and Ienzo took a deep breath and sighed. “It’s someone I met…you know. At that club I go to. Sometimes.”

“Ah,” Ansem said, intrigued but cautious. He always treated this subject delicately, in order to spare Ienzo the awkwardness, which ultimately only made it twice as awkward.

“Yeah. We talked for a little while once—ten minutes, tops. He just wanted to know what I was reading.”

Ansem nodded slowly, then paused, furrowing his brow. “You brought a book?” Ienzo gave him a flat look through his hair, and Ansem failed to fight back a smile. “Forgive me. I don’t know why I sounded surprised.”

Ienzo rolled his eyes. “Well, I didn’t realize he lived here in town. I ran into him on my way over, and he asked if I wanted to hang out with him and his friends at Sunset Terrance after the tournament.”

“And you’re going?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Ansem nodded again, watching Ienzo avoid eye contact for a few moments. “…be that as it may,” he said, “you seem to be leaning in a particular direction. You just glanced at the clock again.”

“I’m sorry,” Ienzo said, his tone firm as he resolved to break that habit. “We had a visit planned, and I’ve spent the whole time anxiously waiting to leave.”

Ansem gave him a warm smile. “There’s no need to apologize, Ienzo. I’m amazed you’ve set aside as many Saturdays for me as you have so far. You’re welcome to leave whenever you like.”

“I’m not even sure if I’m going to go. I only met this kid once. I have no idea what his friends are like, except that they apparently enjoy contact sports, which is already a mark against us having anything in common. We’ll probably have nothing to talk about. What’s the point, really?”

“Well, there might not be one,” Ansem said. “There isn’t always a point, Ienzo. There doesn’t have to be.” Ienzo nodded, expecting that sort of answer and determined not to be swayed by it. “And if I may pose the question differently?” Ansem went on, taking a more scientific approach. Ienzo waited, and Ansem said, in his most straightforward but gentle tone of voice, “What’s the harm, really?”

Five minutes later, Ienzo was semi-reluctantly putting his messenger bag over his shoulder and letting his grandfather see him to the door, promising to at least try to have a good time.

* * *

After one or two harrowing missteps with the tram schedule, Ienzo made it to Sunset Hill. Apparently it was a popular gathering spot this time of year, and Ienzo couldn’t tell if being assimilated into the crowd was easing his anxiety or enhancing it. He had to stand on his toes to see over the shoulders and hats of tourists and Twilight Townians alike, and after a few minutes of squinting through the low sun, he finally noticed Pence. He was waving at Ienzo, having spotted him first and trying to get his attention, possibly since he first arrived. The realization that he’d been watched heightened Ienzo’s self-consciousness, but Pence just looked happy to be seen.

“Hi,” Ienzo said, once he politely cut his way through the crowd. Pence grinned.

“All right, you made it after all! Didn’t get lost, didja?”

Normally, Ienzo would’ve found it presumptuous for someone he barely knew to joke with him in such a familiar way. But Pence’s tone was only half-teasing; the other half was genuinely congratulatory. “Well, the directions were a bit misleading,” Ienzo said, hoping he wasn’t coming off as too mean. Pence pointed at him.

“They were a test of your skills,” he said, seamlessly joking back. “And hey—you passed!”

Ienzo almost laughed, and Pence started waving him over to a spot by the edge of the hill. “Well, c’mon. Meet the gang.”

Ienzo followed carefully, sliding the bulk of his messenger bag in front of him to keep it from snagging on any tourists. The “gang,” as it turned out, was simply another boy and a girl. They were sitting on the grass, looking thoroughly in need of rest after their competition in the Sandlot. They were in the middle of a conversation, but looked up with friendly smiles as Pence and Ienzo approached.

“Hey guys,” Pence said, gesturing to their newcomer, “this is Ienzo. Ienzo, this is Hayner and Olette.”

Olette waved, and Hayner nodded at Ienzo’s bag. “Damn, what’re you lugging that thing around for on a day like this? What’ve you got in there? Homework?”

“Yes,” Ienzo said. “Well, a couple books, and a notebook.” He paused when Pence sat down beside his friends, then awkwardly followed his lead, settling on the grass and crossing his legs. “I always try to have something to do on the train.”

“Are you from out of town, then?” Olette asked.

“Radiant Garden,” Pence answered, and then turned to Ienzo, unsure. “Right? I’m assuming, anyway.”

“Yes.”

Hayner scrunched up his face a little, and then it seemed to click. “Ohh, yeah, I remember hearing about you. You were the guy with the book, right? Well, duh,” he added, gesturing to Ienzo’s bag.

Ienzo fidgeted—he hadn’t expected to be a topic of conversation before he even met these people. His awkwardness was alleviated somewhat when Olette gave Pence a friendly shove and said, “Man, this guy was _psyched_ that he wasn’t the only one who brings reading material everywhere he goes.”

“Yeah, at least you were reading, like, a novel,” Hayner said to Ienzo. “The only time I see Pence with an actual book in his hands is when he’s using it to hide a comic.”

“Hey, comic books are cool!”

“Comic books are not cool, Pence. They haven’t been cool since we were, like, ten years old.”

“That’s bullshit, Hayner,” Olette jumped in. “Comics were cool _decades_ before we were even born. And they suddenly stopped being cool in the past seven years, just because _you_ decided we’re all too old for them?”

Hayner rolled his eyes and glanced at Ienzo. “You’re a smart guy, right? Back me up here.”

Ienzo looked at Pence and Olette, then at Hayner again. “…they’re pretty cool, honestly.”

Hayner groaned and leaned back on his hands. “Yeah, figures. We add one new person to our group, and suddenly Pence is right about everything.” Pence stuck his tongue out, and Hayner said to Ienzo, “Next you’re gonna tell me it’s _cool_ to be a computer nerd.”

Ienzo gave him an apologetic shrug, and Pence punched the air. “Whooo! _Told_ ya, Hayner. Comic books and programming are _cool_. Smacking people with foam bats is _not_.”

“Well, I didn’t say that,” Ienzo pointed out, more for the sake of fairness than anything else. “I didn’t get a chance to watch the tournament.”

“You didn’t miss much,” Olette assured him, while Hayner and Pence continued their long-held argument. “Neither one of us made it to the finals. Still had fun whacking the crap out of Hayner, though.”

Ienzo snickered, and Hayner threw his hands up in the air. “‘All computer nerds are gay?’” he asked Pence in disbelief. “What the hell kind of stereotype even _is_ that?”

“A _true_ one,” Pence shot back, gesturing between himself and Ienzo as proof. Hayner pointed at Olette as his counterargument.

“Olette’s not a computer nerd.”

“Hey, I said all computer nerds are gay, not all gay people are computer nerds,” Pence said. “That’s a, uh…whaddya call it…?”

“Syllogistic fallacy.”

“Yeah!” Pence said, beaming at Ienzo in gratitude. “That.”

“Besides,” Olette said, “I’m better with computers than _you_ are.” Hayner stuck his tongue out at her, and Olette returned the gestures, pressing her thumb to her nose and waving her fingers for good measure.

“Olette doesn’t have to be a computer nerd, anyway,” Pence said. “She’s already a history nerd.”

“Really?” Ienzo asked, looking at her curiously. She put her hand down and shrugged.

“I mean, if I have to be _some_ kind of nerd, then yeah, I guess.”

“She’s being modest,” Hayner said. “She knows, like, _everything_ about Twilight Town, including which urban legends are true and which ones are bogus.”

“Hint? They’re all bogus,” Olette said. When Pence looked like he was about to jump in again, she said, “Pence, _no_. The ghost train was a bust. It’s just the maintenance run they do at three in the morning. We stayed up _all night_ to debunk that one—I’m not going through this again.”

“Just because _that_ time was a bust, it doesn’t mean a ghost train can’t still exist. There’s that syllogistic fallacy again, right?” Pence asked Ienzo, who hesitated.

“_Technically_, yes,” he said, trying to decide if he could continue to spend time with someone who might truly believe in ghosts.

Olette sighed. “Believe me, Pence. I want these legends to be true as much as you do. But we aren’t doing ourselves any favors by putting ghosts and mysterious staircases where they don’t belong. It’ll only devalue the real stuff, if we ever find it.”

“Like the haunted mansion?” Hayner asked sarcastically.

“_Yes_,” Pence said.

“_No_,” Olette replied. “It’s not _haunted,_ you guys. Someone _lives_ there.”

“Once again,” Pence said impatiently, “it could _still be haunted_.”

Ienzo started to laugh, and the other three turned to him immediately. “Sorry,” he said, “but if we’re talking about the old mansion, out in the woods…?” They nodded, and Ienzo shook his head, trying not to laugh more. “That’s where my grandfather lives. I was just there, visiting him—it’s why I came to Twilight Town in the first place today.”

Pence and Olette looked mortified, trying to figure out how to apologize for the fact that they’d been reducing Ienzo’s family home to ghost hunting fodder all these years. After a few uncomfortable moments of silence, Hayner looked at Ienzo and said, “…well? Is it haunted or not, then?”

Laughter rippled through the group as the fear of causing offense melted away, and a newfound familiarity with each other started to take its place. Ienzo assured them that he’d never had any paranormal experiences at the mansion, although there was a very old well in the backyard that had creeped him out since he was a child. They chatted a bit more about local legends and Ienzo’s occasional visits to Twilight Town, and eventually, Hayner managed to push himself to his feet, offering to get some ice cream. “You like sea salt?” he asked Ienzo, who nodded.

“Absolutely.”

“Good, ‘cause it’s a Twilight Town classic.”

“It originated in Radiant Garden, you know.”

“Yeah, well, _we_ perfected the recipe.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Ienzo replied. Hayner shook his head, saying, “You’ll see,” as he left. He was only gone for a few minutes, but by the time he returned, Pence and Olette were already asking Ienzo about Radiant Garden’s curriculum, and what he thought of the university. Hayner groaned as he sat back down.

“It’s _summertime_,” he said, handing out the ice cream bars for emphasis. They took his point, giving the conversation a rest for a while as they focused on eating their ice cream before it melted, a nearly impossible task. Hayner ended up with a Winner stick, which he promptly lost to Olette when she accused him of lying and then bolted to her feet as soon as he was foolish enough to hand it over. Her trickery led to a brief chase around the hilltop, Hayner outpacing her but Olette outmaneuvering him without even looking, the two of them obviously having gone through this routine before. Pence and Ienzo finished their ice cream as they watched, laughing when Hayner tried to follow Olette’s quick turns and ended up apologizing to a tourist group whose dog he almost tripped over. Pence shook his head, embarrassed.

“Man, can’t take these two anywhere. I told them to be on their best behavior today, too, since we have a guest and all.”

“I’m impressed they still have this much energy left, after the Struggle matches.”

“For real. I dunno where they get it. I mean, don’t get me wrong—I’m always up for a day of walking around town and hiking the hill. But _running_? No thanks.”

“I’m with you on that.”

They finished up their ice cream in a mildly awkward silence, which might have been less awkward if they weren’t both trying to think of some way to break it instead of simply letting it settle. Eventually, Hayner and Olette returned, a little red-faced and out of breath. Hayner triumphantly reclaimed his Winner stick, and Olette flopped down on the grass beside Pence, graciously admitting defeat. The four of them remained there until the sun started to go down and they figured it was time to head back. “Are you gonna have dinner with us, Ienzo?” Olette asked, helpfully untwisting the strap of his messenger bag for him, an overly-familiar gesture which he nevertheless tolerated. “We were thinking of hitting Remy’s Bistro, maybe catching a movie after?”

Ienzo hesitated, not because he wanted to decline, but because he wanted to accept. It surprised him, how readily he almost said yes. “I should probably get back to Radiant Garden. The station’s pretty far from my house, and I don’t want to end up on a late train.”

Olette and Pence expressed mild disappointment, and Hayner bopped Ienzo’s shoulder with his fist—the first friendly shoulder-punch of Ienzo’s life. “Well, maybe we’ll see you around,” he said. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Sure,” Ienzo said, resisting the urge to rub his shoulder. “It was nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” Olette said with a smile. “And hey, if you’re here next weekend, you should come watch the Struggle finals with us. It’s gonna be a blast.”

“_Or_ you can take us to your grandfather’s house for ghost-hunting,” Pence said, augmenting his suggestion with some spooky hand gestures. Ienzo snorted.

“We’ll see.”

The four of them headed back to the train station together. Hayner and Olette were fast walkers and drifted on ahead while Ienzo and Pence maintained a more steady pace. Once there was some distance between the two pairs, Pence said, “Hey, thanks for coming out here today. I’ll be honest: I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“I’ll be honest: neither was I.”

Pence laughed a little. “Well…anyway. Thanks. I know those two can be a bit much, but I hope you had fun.”

“I did. It was nice.”

Pence scuffed his feet along the ground. “…think you might come back sometime?”

“Of course.” Pence brightened up, looking at Ienzo hopefully, and Ienzo added, “My grandfather _does_ live here, after all.”

Pence rolled his eyes, still smiling. “Ha, ha. Well, no pressure, I guess, but if you’re ever here on a Saturday and have some free time—and _don’t_ wanna spend it doing homework—we’re almost always around. Just, uh…give me a call, if you want. You’ve got my number.”

Ienzo nodded, and he followed Pence up to the station platform. The local train arrived first, delivering a few more tourists to the Terrace, but mostly taking the residents of Twilight Town back home. The trio pushed their way inside, pausing at the window so they could wave good-bye as the train pulled away from the station. Ienzo waved back, trying not to laugh at the sight of Pence stumbling over his own shoelace and spilling the contents of his pockets. Hayner and Olette were much more open about teasing him, but they managed to retrieve everything and return it to him safely, including some spare munny, a comically overburdened keychain, a granola bar, and a small slip of paper with Ienzo’s phone number written on it, hastily but neatly.


	5. One Hell Of A Show

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (_Slightly_ under 10k words after editing. Still the longest chapter in the series, though!)  
Characters: the entire Higanbana crew.

Karaoke nights were a popular attraction at Higanbana, which was why Isa limited them to once a month. They drew in some good talent—not surprising in a town whose main demographic was gay college students—but the longer the night dragged on, the more of a gamble it was.

The first time Lea had gone onstage for a song, Isa should have been furious. They had discussed it countless times before: Lea stayed off the main floor during work hours and was only allowed on the stage when scheduled. But it was hard for Isa to get too upset when Lea had partnered up with Demyx for a rendition of “You’re The One That I Want,” resulting in the only performance that Isa actively watched from beginning to end.

Demyx had been Travolta, naturally, pulling off the greaser look with his jeans and plain white T-shirt and product-drenched hair. Lea had joined him to the delight of the crowd, hip-checking Demyx as he sang, “_And my heart is set on youuu_.” When Demyx took Lea’s hand and led him through the chorus with a series of charmingly dated dance moves, Isa actually had to fight back a smile. He’d never told them how cute they were together, and he had absolutely no plans to, but he certainly wouldn’t deny it, either.

It was only when Lea announced, “_I need a man_—” and pointed out across the cheering crowd that Isa gave him a cautionary look, which did nothing to dissuade Lea from firing off a finger gun in his direction and proceeding to sing, “—_who can keep me satisfiiied_...”

Braig, who had been enjoying the show as well from behind the bar, remarked, “Thought you hated finger guns.” Isa didn’t look away from the show, but he leaned over to reply, “I hate when _you _do it.”

Lea and Demyx were a dynamic duo, their years of friendship giving them an easy and instantly likable rapport on the stage. Lea was a decent vocalist—he had a tendency to run flat, but the sheer distinctness of his voice made up for it, as did the loyal following he had built among their clientele. Demyx was the real triple threat, however, possessing the looks, skill, and innate ability to connect with a crowd that made him a star. He’d always had a proclivity for music as a child, but neither Lea nor Isa could have predicted what a great performer he’d become.

It was a skill he put to use every karaoke night at the audience’s request. He graced the stage with crowd-pleasing numbers like “My Strongest Suit” and “Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy,” though he only sang a few bars before some hapless patron stepped on the karaoke cable, yanking it out of the wall. Demyx asked for it to be plugged back in, but Isa was already inspecting the damage and refused to take the risk.

And then, in an incredibly bold move that could have easily backfired, Demyx said, “Well, hey, I’ve still got my keyboard up here. And lucky for us, we have a piano player in the house.” Isa looked lost, but Demyx turned his attention to the bar and said, “How about it, Braig? Wanna play us a song, piano man?”

What followed was an intensely gratifying moment in which Braig could do nothing but stare, taken by complete surprise. Normally, Demyx would quail under that look, but he was in his element on the stage even more than Braig was in his element at the bar, and in the end, his charisma won out. Braig shrugged, saying he could manage a song or two, though he’d have to leave the bar in less capable hands. Unfortunately, with Demyx onstage as well, those hands were Isa’s. The line immediately thinned, not because Isa wasn’t liked, or because he was bad at making drinks, but because half the people had only gone to the bar to flirt with Braig. They flocked to the stage, eager to see him with a new backdrop.

Loathe as Isa was to admit it, Braig did well. Whatever type of “professional” he so often claimed to be, it certainly wasn’t a professional pianist, but he was decent. Certainly good enough to accompany Demyx, whose charm and stage presence gave just about anyone who performed with him a boost. And their general flirtiness suited the show, especially with Demyx’s song choice. Lea later commented that they bounced off each other well, to which Isa agreed, “Like a seal and a beach ball.”

The pair ran through some more popular numbers together, and Demyx even called a few volunteers up on stage to aid him with duets. But it was Demyx’s solo performance of “Wig in a Box” that brought down the house. By the end, the entire club was singing along, and even Isa muttered a few of the lyrics to himself from behind the bar.

Something about Demyx just enabled him to be a cut above Lea as a performer. He threw everything into his shows, even when he had the restraint not to go overboard, which would have been all too easy in this establishment. Whether he was a rock star or a diva, he sold every performance one hundred percent, unfettered by any degree of self-consciousness.

And it was—among other things—that self-consciousness which kept Isa from watching Lea’s more adult shows. His coworkers teased him, claiming that the sight would either make Isa violently jealous or ridiculously turned on. He let them assume as much, rather than explain how it would almost definitely put him in hysterics. There was something so artificial and inherently preposterous about a strip show, and as far as Isa was concerned, there was no protocol for how to react as a member of the audience. It was on par with having “Happy Birthday” sung to you in a restaurant. So he stayed at the front of the club, taking coats and keeping an eye on things whenever Lea performed.

No matter how much Isa discouraged him from interacting with the crowd, Lea found ways to bend the rules. He never initiated interactions, but the patrons who were close enough to the stage for their shouting to be heard sometimes got a quick reply. And once Demyx outfitted Lea with a small microphone that hooked over his ear, allowing him to wear it through his entire performance, Isa realized that there was nowhere left to escape to. No one could force him to _watch_ the show, but now he had to _listen_.

Lea didn’t typically say much, and when he did, it always caught Isa off guard. For starters, he almost didn’t recognize his husband the first time he heard him over the sound system. He was so used to Lea’s typical voice: casual or exuberant, and occasionally silly. Even when he tried to seduce Isa, he rarely acted seductive. They’d known each other for so long that it was more effective to rely on familiarity than anything else. When all it took was light teasing or outright asking, it was unusual for Lea to put actual effort in, and Isa wasn’t prepared for how effortless it sounded. The nasal quality that Lea had when he was being snarky or teasing or silly was almost gone, and he adopted a much smoother tone, dipping into a lower register that Isa forgot he even had.

And it wasn’t just the timbre of his voice, but the things he said as well, usually in a tone that was both laid-back and condescending. Every so often, Isa would hear an audience member call out to Lea in the middle of a show—undoubtedly saying something stupid or crass, judging by Lea’s sarcastic reply of, “Wow, I’m _so_ flattered.” One patron apparently didn’t possess the confidence he thought he did. Lea actually invited the young man to repeat himself, and after a few stammering attempts to raise his voice above the crowd and the music, Isa heard Lea chuckle and say, “Man, you’re a mumbling mess.”

For the most part, Lea didn’t test his luck. He held a lot of sway at Higanbana, not only as their headlining act but also as the manager’s life partner, though the latter was also what kept him in line more often than not. Sometimes, however, his daredevil tendencies got the better of him.

It was a regular night. Lea had finished his second show and retired to the break room until his third and final act. The crowd lingered by the stage for a while, possibly hoping for an encore, but eventually they dispersed, returning to the dance floor and giving Dilan some breathing room at last.

When the all-too-familiar beat of “Pon de Replay” started up, Dilan exchanged a weary look with Aeleus across the floor. Neither one of them had anything against Rihanna, but the crowd lost its collective mind whenever her music was played, and the driving beat of this particular song didn’t do wonders for Dilan’s already thrumming headache. Right on cue, the crowd went nuts, shifting to a whole new level of dancing and grinding and scrawny college kids still pretending they knew how to twerk in the year 2019. Dilan subtly leaned back against the stage, taking relief wherever he could find it, especially with Isa stationed all the way at the entrance.

The crowd continued to cheer long after the song had begun, and something nagged at Dilan’s brain. He _knew_ that cheering. He cast another glance at Aeleus, who was staring above Dilan’s head at the stage, confirming what his friend had already started to suspect. Dilan braced himself, then slowly turned around.

Sure enough, there was Lea, taking center stage only ten minutes after his previous show and dancing his heart out. For a moment, Dilan feared that Lea _had _come out for an encore after all, but he wasn’t doing his usual routine. He was simply dancing for the fun of it, the kind of dancing he’d be doing if he were down on the main floor with the rest of the crowd instead of several feet above them, thriving on their adulation.

Dilan tried to catch Lea’s attention before either one of them caught Isa’s, hoping to squash this problem before it became a catastrophe. Lea gave him a cheerful wave, and Dilan returned the gesture much more aggressively with a sideways sweep of his arm, silently demanding that Lea get his ass off the stage _now_.

Lea had a microphone in his hand—was there _any_ accountability in this place, Dilan wondered. They were going to get a thousand and one lectures about cracking down on the use of company equipment. Thankfully, Lea wasn’t using it yet. He shuffled closer to the edge of the stage so they could converse more easily, which caused Dilan a great deal of stress as the crowd moved closer, too, effectively trapping him in what he still hoped was just some horrible nightmare. He cupped his hand to his mouth and said, “Get _off _the _stage_, Lea. Isa’s going to _kill_ you, and then he’s going to kill _me_, and then he’s finally going to kill Braig because there’ll be no one left to stop him, and by that point it’ll legally be considered a _spree_.”

“_Please_,” Lea laughed. “He won’t do a thing to me, and you know it.”

“Lea, my job is to keep you _safe_, not dignified. If I have to get on that stage and haul you off it in front of everybody, I will.”

Lea’s eyes lit up. “Is that supposed to be a _threat_?”

Dilan considered resigning right then and there. He _seriously _considered it when Lea switched the microphone on and said, “Aww, everyone, Dilan’s telling me to get off the stage. But _I _thought the _customer_ was always right. What do you guys think?” The audience shrieked their support, and Lea shrugged. “The crowd has spoken, Dilan.”

“_You’re_ speaking. They’re just screaming.” Dilan didn’t know why he was still trying to reason with him. He could already see Isa approaching, having heard Lea’s voice over the speakers. Braig had taken notice, too. He’d been outright shushing anyone who tried to order a drink, and when he saw Isa, he took the “Back In Five Minutes” sign out for the very first time in history, set it down on the counter, and stayed right where he was to watch the show.

As Isa pushed through the crowd, he tried to uphold his professional demeanor, which cracked after three seconds and left him barking “MOVE” at everyone in his path. Dilan cleared a route for him and then got the hell out of the way, not knowing if his priority should be to protect the patrons from each other, or Isa from the patrons, or Lea from Isa.

He wasn’t the only one who was wary. Lea maintained an air of casual confidence, but he definitely retreated a few feet from the edge of the stage.

Isa shouted something at him, and Lea put a hand to his ear. “Sorry, it’s loud in here,” he said, gesturing for Demyx to do as the song commanded and turn the music up. Demyx complied, only to immediately turn it back down at Isa’s glare, like a child caught between feuding parents.

But while Isa’s anger was enough to keep Demyx in line, it would take more than that to rein Lea in. “GET OFF,” Isa ordered, to which Lea simply replied, “I _am_.” The crowd went ballistic, and Dilan wanted to ask Isa how someone who’d known Lea for _twenty years_ could still walk straight into a set-up like that. He honestly had no doubt that Lea was telling the truth. He only had a few feet of elevation on them, but it was like he was on another plane, truly at home and untouchable on his stage.

Isa could be intimidating, and on the rarest of occasions he could project his voice with startling skill, but he tended not to resort to it. Eventually Lea cut him some slack, returning to the edge of the stage and putting his foot up on one of the speakers. While Demyx winced at the mistreatment of his sound equipment, Lea rested his elbow on his knee and leaned forward. “Something you wanna say?” he asked before he held the mic down. Isa grabbed it, which Lea hadn’t expected, though he refused to let go, smirking slightly when the crowd reacted to the blatant visual innuendo. If his eyes had lit up at Dilan, they absolutely gleamed now.

Isa leaned in and grit out, “_Get. Off. The stage_.” He shoved the microphone at an unruffled Lea, who had the audacity to smile and lean forward even more as he brought the microphone back to his lips.

“Why don’t you come up here and _make me_?”

The crowd’s reaction was a flawless fifty-fifty split—half of them whooped and cheered in response to the sexual tension, and the other half (Demyx chief among them) laughed nervously in response to the regular, scary tension. Dilan, who still stood almost directly between the two, could confirm that it was definitely both.

Even Isa wasn’t sure how to react. He usually went out of his way to avoid Lea during work hours, and he had never directly interacted with him in front of a crowd, let alone broadcasted it over the sound system to upwards of three hundred people. In the end, with his bluff called and nothing else at his disposal, Isa turned around and stormed back to the entrance, leaving his husband to make a spectacle of himself onstage, for _free_.

Isa didn’t _have _to pass by the bar, but he did, and he didn’t _have _to accept the small packet of Advil that Braig offered, but he did that, too.

“Kid looks like he’s in a good mood,” Braig said, handing Isa a glass of water before finally starting on a backlog of drink orders. “Shame you’ll have to kill him.”

“He’s not a kid. He’s a grown man, and he should know better. We have rules for a reason.”

“Ah, lighten up.”

“Do _not_ tell me to ‘lighten up.’”

Braig laughed. “The crowd loves it, at least.”

Isa didn’t even want to look at the crowd, considering all of them co-conspirators at the moment. But he had to admit that—aside from the objective violation of the club’s policy—no one was really doing anything _wrong_. The crowd was obnoxious, but they were staying in line, and Lea hadn’t so much as loosened his tie.

“They’re behaving themselves better’n usual,” Braig went on. “And Dilan, god help him, is still right in front of the stage. If you don’t like a little improv now and then, you shouldn’t’ve married a theater kid. The guy lives to put the ‘antics’ in ‘romantics.’”

“If you have a point to make, do it without the wordplay. I’m nowhere near in the mood for this, Braig.” Isa returned the Advil and took extra ice in his water before returning to the front of the club once more. He kept his eyes on his podium and sipped his drink at regular intervals, trying to make the sharp coldness cancel out the mental image of Lea looming over him at the edge of the stage.

Around three-thirty, Lea drove them both home, letting Isa stare out the window as the dark, quiet town slipped past. Halfway through the drive, Lea risked asking, “So…are you angry, or turned on?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Isa glanced at Lea and glared when he realized Lea was already looking at him. “Keep your eyes on the road. And your hands on the wheel.”

Lea smiled, but did both. “I told you,” he said, “I’m getting bored. I’m not allowed on the main floor all night, and apparently I’m not even allowed to leave without an escort.”

“You want to walk unaccompanied through a crowd of people who pay to watch you strip? Because I certainly don’t.”

“Well, that’s what I’m saying. There’s nowhere for me to go except the break room. I have three shows a night and they don’t even take twenty minutes each.”

“If it’s work you’re looking for, I can find plenty of things for you to do.”

“Pass. I just feel like I’m going crazy back there. It’s not like I have anyone else to hang out with, and you refuse to take breaks and keep me company. The stage is the only other place I can go.”

“So you have no choice but to engage in childish antics?” But Isa let out a quick breath before Lea could defend himself, and although he still sounded mad, Lea could tell it was a laugh.

“What?”

“Nothing. Well, something Braig said, actually. He claims you put the ‘antics’ in ‘romantics.’”

“Heh, not bad. And hey, how convenient. ‘Cause you put the ‘erotic’ in ‘neurotic.’”

Isa took a very long breath and then exhaled for twice as long, trying to restrain both the urge to laugh and the urge to tell Lea to just shut the fuck up for the rest of the drive. “That was a reach,” he finally said, “but I’ll give it to you for the sheer accuracy.”

Lea grinned, but he let the conversation drop. He still wasn’t sure which mood Isa would end up in, and he knew better than to try and predict it until they got home. If he were to put munny on it, however, he’d guess that Isa’s anger would fizzle out by the time they entered their apartment. Certainly by the time they went to bed.

* * *

It was a good thing Lea hadn’t put munny on it. Sure enough, he was on probation. Isa kept him on his regular schedule, but either Dilan or Aeleus walked him off the premises after his last show of the night so that he could go home. It was an inelegant system, and mildly humiliating for Lea, but it was worth it to give Isa some peace of mind, if only for a few hours at a time.

It took less than a week for Lea to start rebelling. One night he spammed Isa’s phone so much that Isa took one of his oft-ignored breaks just to make him knock it off. The following afternoon, Lea brought Isa a late lunch before the club opened and joined him at one of the tables. They didn’t speak much, but luckily, Braig was there to ensure that the conversation moved along.

“So, you solve your boredom problem yet?”

“Hardly,” Lea said, removing pickle slices from his sandwich to eat them individually, which Isa used every iota of willpower to ignore. “This new routine sucks. You’d think I’d be less bored at home, but I cleaned everything, I took the dog for a run, I watched a movie, I had dinner, and it was still only eight o’ clock. And _after _my shift is even worse. Nothing’s open at one-thirty in the morning except this place.”

“Sure killed a lot of time texting your beau.”

“Yeah, well, that was a project that spanned the whole night. I actually had to run out before my shift to pick up the rose petals.”

“Oh, you gotta be shittin’ me.”

“Hey, I photograph well,” Lea laughed. “And it may have taken nineteen texts, but I finally got a response.”

“Man, you oughta be on probation all the time. How often do you get up to shit like this, anyway?”

“What, sending nudes or having sex on a bed of roses?”

“Both, now that you mention it.”

Lea shrugged. “Rarely and regularly, I guess. Minus the rose petals. Not worth the munny _or_ the clean-up.”

“The hell’s ‘regular’ mean for someone who’s been married nearly a decade? Like…twice a year?”

“_No_,” Lea said, a little defensively.

“So, what? Once a month?”

Lea shrugged again, not wanting to get into the finer details of their personal life, but Isa was looking at Braig curiously, almost smiling. “Is that what ‘regular’ means to you, Braig?” he asked, condescendingly perplexed.

“As if. Try, I dunno…once a week on average, I’d say?”

Isa smiled a little more as he went back to work, and Lea held up three fingers. “Bullshit,” Braig said.

“Sometimes more. Depends on the week.”

Braig shook his head, giving Isa a disbelieving look as he put his cleaning supplies away. “Well, damn,” he said, heading for the door. “I’d hate to see what you’re like when you’re _not _getting laid.”

He slipped into the back hall, leaving Lea and Isa to finish their lunch in peace. Lea ate what remained of his sandwich, feeling satisfied with how that conversation had gone, until Isa, without looking up from his work, said, “You know who his ‘once-a-week’ is, right?”

“Oh, shut _up_,” Lea groaned. “Just because they’re karaoke buddies now, that doesn’t prove anything. What do you think their situation even _is_, anyway?”

“Friends with benefits, though I use the term ‘friends’ very loosely.” After a moment’s thought, Isa added, “And_ ‘_benefits.’”

* * *

Even when Lea’s probation ended, he and Demyx remained under Isa’s watch, and any shows they worked on required his approval. It would have been a hassle if they hadn’t already been trying to find time to get together outside of work anyway, and on one sunny summer evening, they gathered at the Quinlans’ apartment for dinner.

Isa stayed in the kitchen, trying to tune out discussions of potential strip teases that floated in from the family room. Lea and Demyx sat on the floor while they brainstormed, reverting to childhood habits in each other’s company. Demyx also wanted the optimal seating choice for cuddling with Thorn, who had warmed to him from their very first meeting. She was always delighted to see him, and he was so far the only person she greeted at the door with a gift, be it a small pillow, one of Isa’s shoes, or her own stuffed rabbit. She carried the offerings to him in her mouth and looked exceptionally pleased when he accepted them and gave her a friendly scratch in gratitude.

Thorn occasionally checked on Isa, but he got tired of repeatedly petting her only to wash his hands again, so he sent her back to the family room while he finished preparing dinner. She went to Lea first but quickly preferred Demyx, stepping over him and flopping down half on his lap, her tail thumping against the floor. Lea advised him to scratch behind her good ear if he really wanted to see her tail go crazy, to which Isa replied from the kitchen, “Both of her ears are good ears.”

Isa finally brought dinner out with Lea’s help, and after distracting Thorn with her own meal, he took a seat on the armchair, tucking his feet up onto the cushion. The other two remained on the floor, eating off the coffee table. For a while they simply chatted and caught up with each other’s lives, something they didn’t get to do as often as they’d like. But soon, Lea and Demyx were eager to share the results of their brainstorming session with Isa.

“Get this,” Demyx said. “We were thinking—not that Lea’s not a talented guy or anything. But the same type of show over and over, it can get a _little _stale.” Isa shrugged as he twirled some noodles onto his fork, not about to with that.

“And we know you’re not big on audience interaction,” Lea added, “so we figured we’d try something that’s a bit more…I dunno. Artsy, I guess?”

“Totally artsy,” Demyx agreed. “I think even you_’d_ like it, Isa. It’ll be eye-popping, heart-stopping, jaw-dropping.”

“I hope you’ve considered the safety elements as much as you’ve considered your pitch.”

“Like you even have to ask. You know Lea’s safety is my number one concern.”

“_This_ coming from the guy who dared him to fit eleven Warheads in his mouth in ninth grade.”

“Hey,” Lea cut in. “I _did _it, didn’t I?”

“It’s not like he had to go to the hospital or anything. You were always daring him to do crazy shit, too.”

“Yes, but _my _dares didn’t prevent me from making out with him for an entire _week_,” Isa shot back, still seeking retribution for an injustice that had occurred nearly thirteen years ago. Demyx waved him away.

“Eh, we were dumbass kids then. We’re dumbass adults now. Trust me, this’ll be good. It’s pretty much all backlighting, so our working title is ‘Silhouette Show.’ Can be kinda like a theme night, y’know?”

“We already have Silhouette Rooms,” Isa pointed out. “I don’t want any correlation between Lea’s performance and what goes on back there. Dilan has enough to worry about with crowd control as it is.”

“I…did not think of that,” Demyx said, scratching out the phrase on his notepad while Lea smiled. It was easy to forget that ninety-nine percent of the time, Isa’s killjoy tendencies came from a place of genuine worry. Probably because he derived so much pleasure from being a killjoy just for the sake of it the other one percent of the time.

“What about visibility? Would Lea be able to see up there?”

“Better than usual, without those stage lights bearing down on him. He’ll actually have a better view of the crowd than they’ll have of him.”

Isa raised his eyebrows; that was a definitely a selling point. “Well, the lighting sounds expensive.”

“Man, you’re all kinds of wrong tonight, aren’tcha? I’ve got tons of equipment for this sort of thing. It won’t cost a dime.”

Isa tried to think of more ways to protest, but he was running out of points, and Demyx and Lea were ready to assuage any of his concerns. He’d forgotten how resourceful they could be when they had an actual goal in mind.

“We can give it a shot,” Isa finally decided. “But on a trial run only. You can pick one night to test it out, and then we’ll review the logistics, crowd response, and so on.”

Lea and Demyx shared a high-five, and Demyx even got a fist bump when he held his hand out to Isa, though Isa’s expression was so dubious that it was almost—_almost_—not worth it. With the work talk settled, they moved on to dessert and spent the rest of the evening enjoying each other’s company, playing with Thorn, and reminiscing about their childhood.

* * *

The following week, Lea and Demyx worked on setting up what they had, for lack of a better idea, ultimately decided to call the Shadow Show. They’d chosen to debut it on a Monday since they could arrange the equipment without the hassle of the early crowd, except for Ienzo, who had decided to swing by. His relationship with Aeleus was now comfortably considered an outright friendship, and while no one was entirely sure how or when it had happened (as that seemed to be Ienzo’s general way of doing things), they did feel better knowing that someone was keeping an eye on the kid.

Isa was in his office, reviewing the latest health inspection report, when Demyx knocked on the door and poked his head into the room. “Hey, Isa?”

Isa glanced up briefly. “Hi, Demyx. Could you shut the door on your way out?”

“Hilarious,” Demyx said, entering the room. “Just wanted to let you know we’re about to run a test, if you wanna give it your stamp of approval. We could use another pair of eyes, since I’ve gotta stay close to the stage to work the lights.”

“Isn’t Braig out there?”

“A _pair _of eyes.”

Isa laughed quietly as he rose from his chair, figuring he was overdue for a break anyway. He followed Demyx out to the main floor, where Lea was already onstage and Ienzo was sitting at the bar rather than his usual table. Isa, in a rare move, accepted a non-alcoholic Sacred Moon from Braig as he took a seat on one of the stools.

“Demyx,” he called, nodding over his shoulder at Ienzo. “Is this going to be appropriate for him?”

“Yeah,” Demyx said, elbows-deep in a mess of cables. “It’s not the actual show; we’re just testing out the timing and making sure the cues work. Lea’s only up here as a reference point.”

“I have a good eye for color, if you’d like feedback on the lighting,” Ienzo offered, trying to make a case for himself to be there, as if anyone questioned his presence anymore. Isa swiveled the bar stool to face him.

“You told me last week that you were colorblind.”

Ienzo looked puzzled. “That doesn’t sound like something I’d do.”

Isa stared at him for a few seconds before turning back around and taking a sip of his drink, resolving to ignore the kid for the rest of the afternoon. “All right,” Demyx announced. “Killing the stage lights in three, two, one…”

With a heavy snap, the stage lights shut off, and the soft but colorful backlights faded in, illuminating Lea with a swath of pinks and purples and, true to the show’s name, turning him into a shadowy outline. He glanced around as though he’d be able to see the effect for himself. “Looking good?”

“Yeah…” Demyx said, distracted by his own handwriting on the light switch labels. “Hang on. I’m gonna cue the music and see if this works the way I hope it will.”

“Fine by me.”

Lea tapped his toe while he waited, and Isa continued to sip his drink, thinking they had come up with an interesting visual effect, at least. He was just wondering what music they’d picked when Troye Sivan’s voice floated through the club, ethereal and haunting.

“_Kiss me on the mouth and set me free, sing me like a choir_…”

It was a surprising choice, but not a bad one, Isa thought; there was no way their crowd wouldn’t love it. Lea moved to the music absentmindedly, his shadow swaying back and forth.

“_I can be the subject of your dreams, your sickening desire_…”

Isa noticed that the lighting had subtly changed, the pinks and purples fading into more of a bluish green. Demyx was engrossed in the process, carefully adjusting a dial as he said to himself, “All right, now it should…”

“_Don’t you want to see a man up close, a phoenix in the fire?_”

The lights bloomed into reds and oranges and one streak of yellow directly behind Lea, putting him dead center in the simulated flames. He was still no more than a silhouette as he raked both hands up his torso and above his head, ruffling his own hair along the way, hip cocked to emphasize the negative space around him. “Drama queen,” Demyx said without looking up from his equipment, and Lea laughed, instantly relaxing as he dropped one hand back to his side and flipped Demyx off with the other.

Isa sat still on the bar stool, his glass held motionless at his lips until Braig reached over and took it from him. “Didn’t want you to drop it,” he explained when Isa finally looked away from the stage to stare at him.

“I wasn’t—”

“I’ve been in this business a long time, Blue,” Braig said. “And yeah. You were.”

Isa couldn’t even muster a glare, let alone a response. He turned his attention back to the stage, where Demyx was congratulating his own work, saying of another successful color shift, “Dude, I just got chills, like, in my _face_.”

They proceeded through the song, Demyx ensuring that all the timers were set properly, and Lea striking poses when he felt like it or at Demyx’s instruction, but mostly swaying idly to the music. They ended on a golden backdrop before fading to black, and Demyx offered a quick, “Heads up,” as he switched the stage lights on again. Lea blinked, and Braig whistled.

“Not bad, Stretch,” he said, genuinely approving. “Nice to see you shake up your routine once in a while.”

“That’s the idea,” Lea said, hopping down from the stage a little clumsily as his vision adjusted. He and Demyx glanced hopefully at Isa.

“Well?” Demyx asked. “Comments? Concerns? I thought it turned out okay.”

“The lighting was _way _more manageable on my end,” Lea added. “Nice to see more than a few feet ahead of the stage for once.”

“The silhouette effect looked good,” Demyx said. “What did you guys think?”

“Hot as hell.”

“Very spooky,” Ienzo offered.

“Isa?”

Isa rose from his seat, lining his napkin up with the edge of the counter. “It was fine,” he said. “The rainbow lighting during the bridge was a little on the nose. We’ll have to see how it plays out tonight, but I don’t anticipate there being any problems.” And with that, he returned to his office.

Lea tried not to look disappointed, but he said, “Well…I was kind of hoping for a little more feedback than that.” Demyx gave him a pat on the shoulder and assured him that it looked great before he went back to fine-tuning the lights. Lea sat on the bar stool Isa had vacated and scratched at his hair while Braig took it upon himself to cheer him up.

“Kid’s right,” he said, nodding at Demyx. “The show’s gonna be a knockout. And hey, just between you ’n’ me—”

“I’m _right_ here,” said Ienzo.

“—if you ever wanna test your routine out on someone, you’ve got my number.”

“First of all,” Lea began, “no I don’t. I don’t think _anyone_ in this club has your number. I tried calling the one you gave me once, and it was the number for some infomercial that hasn’t even been on the air since the 1980s.”

Even Ienzo had to smirk at that one. Braig chuckled, then asked, “And secondly?” Lea swiveled the stool away from him, resting his elbows on the counter as he reclined against it.

“Secondly: dream on, old man.”

* * *

“Braig, did you and Demyx finish restocking the inventory?”

“Yes, _mom_.”

“Dilan, is Aeleus on his way back from Ienzo’s?”

“He just called. Should be here in five.”

“Good, good. Where’s Lea? Lea!”

“Yo.”

“It’s quarter of. I want you backstage in the next ten minutes.”

“I want you everywhere all the time.”

“_Lea_.” Isa pointed to the back hall, and Lea sighed and dragged himself off the lounge area couch, making his way to the break room. Fifteen minutes later, everyone was in their proper place, the club was open, and Isa found himself soothed by the very routine that made him tense in the first place. He had a tendency to forget how smoothly things actually went on a regular basis. Incidents were memorable, but all things considered, they were few and far between.

When the time came for Lea’s first show of the night, Isa took a break from the door and lingered at the end of the bar nearest to the stage. He checked his watch, and right on schedule, Demyx faded the music out and picked up his microphone from the DJ table. “All right, guys,” he said, addressing the already excited crowd. “I _know_ you know what time it is, but what you _don’t_ know is that tonight, we’re gonna try something a little different.”

“You’re gonna get onstage too?” someone shouted, prompting encouragement from the other clubgoers. Demyx handled it like the showman he was.

“Y’know, maybe someday,” he said, laughing along, “but let’s leave it to a professional tonight, for all our sakes. Everyone, I present to you Higanbana’s first ever Shadow Show!”

Isa leaned back against the bar as Demyx killed the stage lights, and the crowd, confused but intrigued, began to cheer. Dilan was at attention by the stage, but no more tense than usual. He had expressed skepticism at the idea of a new routine, but Isa assured him that the test run had been fairly mellow, and it shouldn’t cause the crowd to kick up too much of a fuss.

Demyx cued the music, and Isa only heard the first abrasive but iconic note of “SexyBack” before the crowd shrieked so loud that he was rendered momentarily deaf. His ears felt like they were filling with blood as his hearing returned, and for a fleeting second, he seriously wondered if one of his eardrums had ruptured. And then he wondered if there was a chance, however slim, that none of this was truly happening at all.

But no, he realized. This wasn’t some outrageous fever dream. This—like everything that occurred at Higanbana—was all too real.

The song was well into its first verse, the lights were on in shades of purple, and the crowd was making their enthusiasm known, but Lea had yet to appear. Say what you would about the man—and Isa intended to—but he knew how to build suspense. His silhouette finally slid onstage at “_Take ‘em to the bridge_,” and the crowd screamed like they’d never screamed before. Lea wasted no time in pulling off his tie, the backlit gesture even more striking than usual, and Isa waited until Lea finished removing the item before he glared at Demyx.

The rock-star-turned-cohort was sitting behind his table, flanked by heavy sound equipment, all the way at the opposite end of the room, but none of that was enough to protect him from Isa’s wrath. Demyx jumped when he realized he’d been singled out, and Isa, holding eye contact the entire time, drew his finger across his throat and mouthed, “I am going to _kill_ you,” somehow managing to stress the word without speaking it.

Demyx’s expression became a weak, apologetic fear-grin, and he looked like he deeply regretted what he was about to do. When the chorus began, he hit the strobe lights and immediately held his hands up in submission.

If Isa was livid before, he was apoplectic now. There were warning signs posted at the front door and throughout the club about the potential use of strobe lights during shows, but he knew it would only take one epileptic or even mildly clumsy patron to garner a lawsuit.

Of greater concern to Isa was Lea’s ability to see, but he seemed to be doing all right. Better than all right, in fact. Lea shrugged out of his shirt, exaggerating his movements to take full advantage of the silhouette effect, and Isa could only stare in shock and fury for so long before he had to admit that he was, in reality, watching the show.

The second round of strobe lights proved to be too much, however, and they sent him back to the entrance. Braig knew better than to stop him this time, even to offer him some water or painkillers.

At three a.m., Demyx tried to sneak out with the crowd, but Isa had already ordered Aeleus and Dilan to guard the doors and ensure that every member of the crew stayed put. “If we all die here tonight, then so be it,” had been his exact words, which Aeleus thought was a bit extreme. Then again, he hadn’t been the one stuck guarding the stage. The ensuing blowout was one for the scrapbook, as the little stunt had turned Isa and Dilan, normally two of the more professional and self-controlled employees, into frazzled disasters. The crew were so unaccustomed to hearing Isa raise his voice at all that it took them a minute to realize he was shouting at them in another language.

“How much clearer are we supposed to be?” Dilan demanded. “We _need _to know the stage schedule in order to plan accordingly. I know you think you’re untouchable up there, Lea, but you’re not. One person gets it in their head to do something stupid, and you’re a _target_.”

“C’mon, who’s gonna—”

“We have people getting drunk here, in close quarters, carrying around bottles and glasses. I enforce the ‘no drinks on the dance floor’ policy to the best of my ability, but there are always going to be rule-breakers. I expect as much from customers—I shouldn’t have to expect it from my coworkers, too.” Dilan almost asked Lea if he’d _really _like to try doing a show with no security, and the only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that Isa was upset enough already without that thought in his head.

“You really do take our job for granted sometimes,” Aeleus told Lea and Demyx in a ‘not mad, just disappointed’ tone. “We’re here to ensure your safety. Often, that means solving problems before any of you even realize they exist.”

“_Genau—_exactly,” Isa said, finally transitioning back to English. “No one’s trying to ruin your fun just for the sake of it, much as you like to pretend that’s my entire job description. I’ve _told _you not to use that song, by the way,” he said to Lea. “You’re practically inviting the audience up on stage with you.”

“And the strobes, Demyx,” Dilan said wearily. “We’ve talked about this. I thought I was going to have a stroke.”

“Hey, not on the main floor, you’re not. That’s what the back rooms are for.”

“Braig, I will kill you, all right? I will kill you.”

“We’re dismantling the strobe lights,” Isa said, wanting to resolve at least one issue before the night ended. “We have nothing to gain and far too much to suffer by leaving them intact.”

“It was just a little experiment,” Demyx said meekly, standing next to Lea and looking like they were back in middle school, caught pulling some stupid prank.

“You don’t think there’s enough experimentation going on in this place?” Isa shot back. “_That’s _what the back rooms are for, and it’s bad enough they exist at all.”

“Man,” Braig said with a disbelieving laugh. “You really are a self-loathing gay, aren’t you?”

“I assure you, the two are unrelated.” Isa took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh, regarding Demyx, who looked like a troublemaking but well-meaning teenager again, and Lea, who had the good sense to keep his mouth shut, looking neither ashamed of nor pleased with himself. All of a sudden, Isa realized just how tired he was.

“Look,” he said, hearing the fight go out of him, “it’s late. Everyone, do whatever you have to do to close up. We’ll finish dealing with this tomorrow.”

“It’s a holiday tomorrow—well, today,” Aeleus said, and Isa pointedly gestured between himself and Lea, repeating, “_We_.”

They all agreed that that was probably best, and after a very brief closing up—during which Braig thanked Isa for adding German to the long list of languages he’d been threatened in—they went their separate ways. Lea knew better than to try and lighten the mood with banter on the way home, and only spoke up to apologize for hitting a pothole. Isa took Thorn outside while Lea brushed his teeth and got changed, and Lea sat in bed while Isa went into the bathroom to run through his own routine. Lea still didn’t want to push his luck, but the silence was throwing him off, and Isa’s apparent lack of anger was throwing him off even more.

Finally, Lea said, “So…on a scale of one to furious, you’d be a…?”

Isa spit out his mouthwash and turned off the bathroom light. He spent a few minutes petting Thorn, who had picked up on the tension as soon as they got home and had been quietly following Isa ever since. When she was ready to go to sleep, he helped her get settled in at the foot of the bed, laying her stuffed rabbit between her paws. She rested her chin on it contentedly, and Isa hit the lights before climbing into bed beside Lea, who was starting to wonder if Isa had even heard his question.

Once Isa was comfortable, he sat there in the dark for a few long, quiet moments. Then he leaned over, gave Lea a brief kiss on the cheek, and said, “We’ll talk tomorrow.” He lay down, facing away from Lea and making sure he turned off his alarm before fully settling in. Lea put him at about a five on the scale, which was certainly something he could work with, and he settled down as well, grabbing his sleeping mask from the nightstand and trying to get some rest.

* * *

The next morning, Isa woke up alone. It was almost eleven-thirty, meaning he’d gotten about seven hours of sleep, which explained why he felt unusually well-rested. He wondered where Thorn had wandered off to, though he enjoyed being able to stretch his legs too much to truly care. He’d planned to shower first, but as he hauled himself out of bed, the smell of breakfast convinced him to head for the kitchen instead.

The table was set with a huge bowl of chopped fruit, a plate of bacon, which Thorn was sniffing at eagerly, a small pitcher of orange juice, and syrup. Lea was already dressed and working on the last few scrambled eggs and pieces of French toast to add to the spread. He glanced up and did a double take when he noticed Isa, who folded his arms and leaned against the doorjamb.

“Good morning,” Lea tried to say in a bright, welcoming tone, though his nervousness dragged his voice down by the end of it. He cleared his throat and held up the pan. “Hungry?”

Isa raised his eyebrows. “French toast. You must think you fucked up atrociously.”

“Did I not? And before you answer—” Lea picked up a small shaker from the counter. “—you should know that we have powdered sugar.”

“Since when?”

“Since I took Thorn on a five-mile jog and picked some up at the store.”

Isa couldn’t help looking a little impressed. “What time did you get up?”

“I dunno. Three hours ago, maybe? Wanted to let you sleep in, so I had some time to kill. I also dusted the family room, got rid of all the expired shit in the medicine cabinet, and gave Thorn a nice, luxurious brush. Figured I’d wait on laundry until you got out of bed, though.”

“What a productive morning you’ve had.”

“Yeah, well.” Lea finished loading everything onto plates and held them up: French toast in one hand, eggs in the other. “So. Breakfast time?”

Isa was tempted to let Lea off the hook then and there because of how adorably earnest he looked, and equally tempted to string him along for as long as possible, just to see how many more chores he could wring out of him. Finally, he nodded and joined Lea at the table, messily putting his hair up to keep it out of his face while he ate.

The rest of their day was fairly quiet. Between Isa still getting his thoughts together and Lea wanting more opportunities to boost his credibility with household chores, they both seemed to agree that waiting until the afternoon to discuss last night’s stunt would be best. Lea took Thorn out for a second, milder walk, did all of the laundry, cleaned the bathroom even though it didn’t really need it, and offered to give Isa a back massage because their apartment was in phenomenal shape and he was running out of things to do. Isa declined and invited Lea to join him on the couch instead.

It wasn’t a difficult discussion. Lea and Demyx had clearly realized that they crossed a professional line the night before, and it was hard for Isa to stay truly mad at either of them to begin with, especially after everything Lea had accomplished on about four hours of sleep. He looked tired by the time he sat down, yet fully ready for a lecture, and that alone made Isa take pity on him.

“I’m serious about this,” he said, though he said it gently. “This isn’t just you being the fun one and me being the boring, uptight one. To be honest, there are very few things I would outright ban you two from doing. Your specialties are on the stage, and for the most part, I’m fine giving you free rein to decide how best to use it. All I’m asking is that you let me know what to expect.”

“I know,” Lea said. “It really did start off as a joke. We just kept egging each other on.”

“This is why you two need a wet blanket around to smother the bad ideas.”

“C’mon, you think that’s your role in our little trio? I mean…you’re definitely the uptight one, I’ll give you that. But that just makes it all the more rewarding to get you to loosen up.”

“If you’re trying to flirt with me, you’ll either need to wait a little longer or try a little harder. I’m still annoyed.”

“But you’re more annoyed with Demyx, right? It was basically his idea.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll be sleeping with one eye open for a while. I suppose I did technically threaten to murder him.”

“I noticed,” Lea said with a grin. “Not gonna lie…that was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.”

Isa rolled his eyes, but he didn’t stop Lea from leaning in, and he even kissed him back after a few seconds. Lea pulled away soon enough, still trying to be careful. They sat in silence for a moment, and once Lea felt like they had begun to edge away from the more serious discussion, he said, “So…you can speak German, huh?”

“Mhmm,” Isa said, tucking some of Lea’s hair behind his ear.

“And how long were you gonna keep that little tidbit to yourself?”

Isa shrugged. “I didn’t plan on ever bringing it up.”

“…you gonna start using it more often, now that I know?”

Isa shook his head, kissing Lea’s forehead softly. “_Nein, Liebling_,” he said, bringing another grin to Lea’s face. “I only had to learn it so I could speak to my grandparents when my father took me to visit them. Not exactly a pleasant association.”

Lea looked disappointed, but he knew better than to push the issue. “Well, everything else aside…what’d you think of the show?”

“I didn’t watch.”

“Liar. I could _see _you, y’know.”

“I watched _very_ briefly, until the strobe lights threatened to give me a migraine. I don’t even remember most of it.” When Lea looked a little dejected, Isa added, “I’m sure you did well, if the audience was any indication.”

“Well, Demyx picked a crowd-pleaser. People like that song.”

“People like _you_.”

Lea pulled at a loose thread on the hem of his T-shirt. “…you really didn’t want to stay and watch?”

“I never watch the shows, Lea. You know that.”

“Yeah, I just figured…I dunno. This was kind of a special one. Trying something new…I thought you might wanna scope it out, at least.”

Isa watched him, and Lea avoided eye contact, as he so often did when he felt self-conscious. “Were you _seriously_,” Isa began slowly, “putting on a show for _me_?”

“Well…yeah. I mean, I mentally dedicate every show to you.”

Isa stared at him. “Lea, that’s…astoundingly gay.”

“That’s the point.”

“No. That’s _astronomically_ gay. Christ. Is this why you’ve been acting out lately?”

Lea shrugged. “You know, when I first took this job, it wasn’t meant to be a long-term thing. I was just gonna invite you out to see me once. It’d be a fun little surprise, I’d have a laugh, and then I’d move on. I didn’t know you’d end up being my manager and having all these rules about not watching the shows. Kinda thought you might bend some of those rules by now, but…” He stopped fiddling with his shirt, smoothing it out and getting embarrassed again. “Anyway. There you go.”

Isa was still staring, slowly shaking his head at this revelation. “Trust you to make a career out of an attempted prank,” he said, getting Lea to smile and exhale in a quiet laugh. But Isa’s tone got more serious as he said, “Would you be happier doing something else? I don’t want you to feel locked into a job that was meant to be temporary just because of me.”

“Hey, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. I love my job,” Lea said, settling back into his more casual attitude as he put his feet on the coffee table. “Great hours, easy munny, hot security guards. The boss is a hardass, but he’s total eye candy, so it’s fine.”

“Glad to hear it,” Isa said. “Though I had no idea you felt that way about Marluxia.” Lea gave him a shove with his shoulder, which Isa returned fondly, staying close enough to continue leaning against him. He ran his fingers through Lea’s hair for a little while before he added, “I’m still not watching you when you’re onstage.”

“Yeah, I figured. It’s cool.” Lea closed his eyes while Isa continued to play with his hair, ruffling his spikes out of place only to spend twice as long resetting them. He opened his eyes again when Isa sighed and withdrew his hand, nudging Lea’s feet off the coffee table and using his own foot to wheel it aside. Lea glanced at it, then at Isa. “Uh…what?”

Isa settled back against the couch. “The floor is yours,” he said dryly, gesturing to the room. “Dazzle me.”

“Holy shit. Are you for real?”

“Apparently. But any second now I’m going to realize how ludicrous this is, so I’d hurry if I were you. And _please_ pick a different song.”

“Okay, okay,” Lea said, excited but still a little disbelieving. “Okay. But, like…” He glanced at Thorn, who was curled up in the corner, worn out from her exercise and enjoying a light nap. “I can’t do this in front of the dog. Give her something to chew on while I get changed.”

He darted out of the room, and Thorn lifted her head to watch him go, glancing at Isa as if she wanted an explanation. What he gave her instead was a large peanut butter bone, and she seemed perfectly satisfied with that. Isa used to feel guilty and even manipulative about distracting her so he and Lea could spend time alone, but he quickly learned to get over himself and accept that, sometimes, she was far less interested in their attention than she was in whatever flavored treat they gave her.

Lea had put on a slightly more complex outfit than jeans and a T-shirt, something that required more steps to remove. Isa let himself be dragged into their room, thinking that Lea was endearingly but disproportionately enthusiastic, and telling him as much.

“You _never_ let me do this,” Lea said, trying to push Isa onto the bed until Isa waved him away.

“I still think strip teases are ridiculous,” Isa said as he nonetheless stole all of Lea’s pillows and added them to his side of the bed, arranging them so he could lean back. “Besides, I assumed you wouldn’t want to do your job in your free time. It would be like me…”

Lea, despite his eagerness, paused to give Isa a knowing look. “Were you gonna say something like balancing our budget, or making spreadsheets for fun?”

“I was,” Isa admitted while Lea snickered.

“All right, get comfortable. I still gotta find a tie.”

While Lea rummaged through the closet, Isa did his best to settle in, still feeling the contrived nature of the situation, even and especially in the comfort of his own home. He ended up simply crossing his arms and bending one knee as he reclined. Lea glanced at him and paused in the middle of knotting his tie.

“Thought I said to get comfortable.”

“And _I_ thought I said to hurry up,” Isa replied, beckoning Lea closer so he could help him with his tie. “I’m more relaxed when I’m tense.”

“You’re not gonna make this easy, are you?”

“You’re the improviser. Work with it.” Isa smoothed out the tie before giving Lea a small push and leaning back again. When Lea hit the music and “Skin” started playing, Isa refrained from rolling his eyes for his husband’s sake. He made a mental note to ask Lea when Rihanna had become so integral to his performances.

He quickly put the thought out of his mind when Lea started to move, loosening the tie, taking his time undoing Isa’s work. He slid it off his neck gradually rather than whipping it off, creating a wholly different atmosphere from the one Isa had expected. As he watched, it occurred to him just how attentive and observant Lea could be. Isa had been bracing himself for something over-the-top and attention-grabbing, the kind of show Lea put on for a crowd. He hadn’t expected Lea to tailor his performance to suit his audience of one.

Lea’s movements were slow and careful, matching the tone of both the song and the room. He didn’t even look at Isa, keeping his focus on what he was doing rather than who he was doing it for. It was a subtle change, but it allowed Isa to watch him without feeling watched in return, reducing the self-conscious nature of the act considerably and altering Isa’s entire outlook on it.

In the end, Lea barely managed to take his shirt off before Isa dragged him into bed, joining him the for participation-friendly second half of the show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I didn't realize that "Warhead challenges" were a real thing until after I wrote this chapter. I legitimately tried to think of a dare that was so outrageously stupid, only Demyx and Lea would attempt it. I should've known better.


	6. Wayfinder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly a flashback chapter.  
Characters: Aqua, Terra, and Tifa.

Aqua’s favorite color had always been blue, ever since she was a little girl. In her opinion, it was the most versatile color: sometimes deep and bold, sometimes soft and sweet, sometimes vivid and electric. It was the color of the sky and the ocean, of her favorite birds and her favorite fruit, of her eyes and hair.

The latter two examples did not escape the notice of the adults in her life. Aqua would make lists of all the wonderful blue things in the world, ending with her own features, and then her mother and aunts and neighbors would exchange knowing looks and say, “Well, _someone_ certainly doesn’t have a problem with self-esteem, does she?”

A statement like that could have easily been a compliment. But there was something insidious beneath the words themselves, something that sounded to Aqua like an insult—or a warning.

Once school began, she learned that the adults weren’t the only ones with opinions about her. On the first day of kindergarten, everyone was instructed to sit in a circle and share three things about themselves, including their favorite colors. When Aqua shared hers, a chorus of boys spoke up to correct her.

“Blue is a _boy_ color,” they said. Aqua pulled on the front of her T-shirt.

“But I’m _wearing_ blue, and _I’m_ not a boy,” she shot back. Her logic was irrefutable, but the boys simply repeated, with all the certainty in the world, that she was wrong.

“Now, class,” the teacher said, “you can all pick whichever colors you want.” Aqua stuck her tongue out at her detractors, until the teacher turned to her and said, very gently, “Aqua, is there another color you like as much as blue?”

Aqua paused to think it over, not knowing why she even had to. “…black?”

Her classmates had a problem with that, too. “You can’t pick black!” “That’s a boy color, too!” “You have to say you like white, or yellow, or pink!”

Aqua was absolutely flummoxed. She hated wearing pink, _and_ yellow—and white was a hassle, because already, at age five, she was expected to keep her clothes free of grass stains whenever she went outside to play. The only response she could come up with was, “You’re so stupid,” which got her sent to the corner for a five-minute time-out and a lecture on appropriate conduct and treating her fellow classmates with respect.

It was a lesson she would learn over and over again, and yet one that would never quite sink in for her. Boys _can_ and _get to_, and girls _can’t_ and _shouldn’t_ and _have to_ and _need to_. Boys _get to_ wear blue, and girls _have to_ wear pink. Boys _get to_ climb and jump and play with each other, and girls _have to _stand and sit and play with dolls.

Boys _are_, and girls _aren’t_. It was the difference between an accommodating, “Oh, they can’t help it, they’re just having fun,” and a chiding, “Aqua, that is _not_ how a young lady behaves.”

It was a fairly insular and close-minded community that Aqua grew up in—but in a way, it almost worked to her advantage. She went through her childhood and preteen years unaware of the stereotypes she was or wasn’t supposed to adhere to, and she rejected all attempts to categorize her, living in accordance with her own wants and goals and innate confidence.

By luck, she ended up being a plaid-loving, Teva-wearing, softball-playing kind of girl. She even went to sleepaway camp in the summer between middle and high school, where she led her softball team to an easy victory. Granted, it helped that Aqua was trying to show off for one of her classmates, with whom she shared a cabin that week. The girl was shy, but _openly_ shy, inviting Aqua to step up and take action. Somehow, despite all evidence to the contrary, she’d convinced herself that Aqua had any idea what the hell she was doing.

Eventually, Aqua knew she had to make her move, whatever that move may be. It was Thursday evening, the last day of camp before everyone had to load their duffel bags into the bus and make the two-hour trek back to Departure. Aqua left the campfire to go sit by the lake for a while, and sure enough, her not-so-secret admirer joined her ten minutes later. She sat with Aqua on a log by the shore, listening to the gentle lap of water against the lily pads and soft sand.

Aqua was still trying to figure out what to do when the girl scooted closer, tentatively sliding her fingers under Aqua’s. With very little time between mustering her courage and turning that courage into action, all Aqua managed to say was, “Ah, fuck it,” before leaning in.

It was her first kiss, and obviously so, but once they both got over their surprise, the awkwardness melted into pure delight. For the next twenty-four hours, they were inseparable, staying up until their counselor ordered the cabin to turn off their lights and go to sleep already, sitting together at breakfast, holding hands on the bus ride home.

Aqua’s first order of business when she got back was tracking Terra down and telling him all about it. He shared her excitement, congratulating her on finally being brave enough to make a move, though when she told him the story of how it happened, he almost fell off his chair laughing. “How are you so confident, and so _awkward_, at the same time?” he wanted to know. When Aqua insisted that it hadn’t been _that_ awkward, he said, “Oh, come on. You can’t spell ‘awkward’ without ‘Aqua.’”

“Yes you can.”

“…right…well…you can’t _say_ it, is my point.”

Regardless, nothing could downplay Aqua’s happiness. “It was just so cool,” she said, pacing around Terra’s basement while he sat on the couch, trying not to laugh any further at her sheer enthusiasm. “Like, she was shy, but not _too_ shy—like, she kept coming over to me. And like, yeah, okay, it was _kind of_ awkward, but after I finally _did_ it, it all just happened so naturally, you know?”

“Not really,” Terra said, “but it sounds nice. I’m happy for ya, blue jay.”

“Me too,” Aqua said, flopping down on the couch next to him. “And you know what? Once school starts, I’m gonna ask her if she wants to actually be, like…you know. _Girlfriends_.”

“Like you even have to ask,” Terra said, and Aqua shoved him, grinning from ear to ear.

The following week, on the first day of high school, Aqua managed to find the girl before the homeroom bell rang. Before she could say anything more than an unusually timid, “Hi,” the girl beat her to the punch.

“Oh, good. I was looking for you. I was wondering if…” She glanced at the other students and teachers in the hallway, then lowered her voice and said, “Could we go somewhere quieter?”

They searched until they found an empty classroom. Aqua wanted to blurt out her question as soon as they shut the door, but she forced herself to wait. The girl was clearly a couple steps ahead of her—maybe she would be the one to act first for a change. Aqua didn’t mind being the initiator, but she was curious to know what it was like to be on the receiving end of someone else’s affections. The girl fidgeted, twisting and knotting her fingers together.

“Okay, so…I had a lot of fun at camp,” she began, and already, Aqua felt as if she had swallowed a stone, one that was slowly sinking through her chest and dropping into her stomach. “And I think you’re really nice. But I’m worried that we’re taking this too fast. Would you mind if we just, like…put a halt on things?” When Aqua only blinked, the girl tangled her fingers even tighter and gave her an apologetic little smile. “I’m sorry. I’m not wording this well, am I?”

“No,” Aqua said. “You’re not.”

The girl took a deep breath and tried again. “Would it be okay if we just…rewind everything, then, and go back to how things were? Like, pretend that those last couple days at camp never happened?”

Aqua’s brain said, _No, it _wouldn’t_ be okay, and how dare you even ask that? How dare you _want_ that? You can say you didn’t like it, or that you don’t want it to happen again, but don’t stand there and tell me you want to erase it from ever having happened in the first place._

But her mouth said, “Yeah, sure. Totally.”

The girl exhaled as if a weight had been lifted off her neck, the guillotine raised and locked in place once more. “_Thank_ you,” she said, finally letting go of her own hands to take Aqua’s instead. She squeezed them in gratitude before she rejoined her peers in the hallway, leaving Aqua to stand numbly in the middle of the empty room.

She had wanted to say something bitter and scathing, something that would cut the girl to her core. But the pure relief on her face had wiped Aqua’s emotional slate blank. That girl was _afraid_ of her, or at least afraid of what being with her would mean. Aqua would go on to watch her date countless male classmates throughout the school year, and with each new boyfriend of the week, Aqua would have to ask herself what was so threatening about her that _wasn’t_ threatening about them?

But she was tough, and even if she weren’t, attending high school wasn’t something she could opt out of. Terra encouraged her to keep her chin up and not let one bad experience bring her down, but still, it was a rough year. As much as Aqua tried to be the bigger person, she couldn’t help being standoffish toward that girl, avoiding eye contact in the hallway, ignoring her in class, not sitting with her in the cafeteria even though there were empty seats at her table.

Those seats didn’t stay empty for long. They filled up fast, with girls who were more than happy to give Aqua death glares on the first girl’s behalf.

Even without the enemies she somehow managed to make, Aqua’s dating options were limited. Of the few girls who were willing to go out with her, none of them lasted longer than a month. Any feelings they might have developed for Aqua were overpowered by the teenage craving for social validation and the fear of being ostracized. She had no choice but to let them go, one after the other, without a fuss and without question.

Some of them started smear campaigns against her, painting her with the incredibly broad “psycho stalker lesbian” brush. Whether Aqua’s mere existence shone a light on something they weren’t ready to handle, or whether they’d simply been messing around all along and eventually “outgrew” her, she became the target of their scorn, and by extension, the scorn of their peers. They tried to be the bane of her existence as they navigated the zero sum game of the high school social hierarchy, but to Aqua, they were inconsequential. She hated them, they hated her, and that was that.

The gracious ones, however, parted ways with a brutally earnest face-to-face apology before the school year began, and those girls—like the first—were the ones Aqua couldn’t even stand to look at. They were the ones she felt a real connection with, and they willingly severed that connection, because it was just powerful enough to be risky, but not powerful enough to be worth that risk.

The girls who broke up with Aqua only to gossip and jeer at her were the relationships that never were. But the bittersweet, apologetic ones were the relationships that could have been, and those were the ones that sent Aqua running to the hiking trails to cry alone, at least until Terra finally tracked her down. He found her at the base of the cliffs, looking unusually small as she put her flexibility to use and sat with her legs hugged to her chest, head bowed and face hidden past her knees. Terra sat down and rested his arm around her, less an anchoring weight than a binding force, and Aqua sobbed against his shoulder with everything she had. That was how they concluded more than one of their summers: sitting together on the neglected hiking trails, Aqua crying her heart out and hoping it wouldn’t come back, while the late August sunset slowly turned everything green to gold.

She knew, deep down, that she couldn’t ask these girls to put everything on the line for her. They all saw the treatment she was willing to expose herself to for the sake of living truthfully and openly. But whether it was the bullying she endured from her straight classmates, or the knowledge that her fellow gay classmates were witnessing her plight from behind closed doors, Aqua started to feel as if her entire existence in Departure was amounting to little more than a cautionary tale.

Terra remained her most valuable resource and ally, but Aqua didn’t want to lean on just a single person for support. She tried talking to her mother about it once or twice, and her mother had said—with honest, genuine sympathy—“I’m so sorry, dear. I can’t even imagine what you must be going through.”

After that, Aqua gave up relying on her mother for much of anything, emotionally speaking. She wished she’d known how to say that _any_ words of comfort would have been better than hearing that her problems were so unimaginable, so unrelatable, that she might as well have been an alien species. It was another lesson she learned but refused to accept: that it would always be her responsibility to make the adults in her life understand her, and that it was never her right to be understood.

She started spending more time at the sea, isolating herself from her neighbors and family and classmates, even from Terra. She developed a habit of letting the state of the tide determine her mood. Low tide let the sandbars and rocks emerge, and on those days, Aqua used them as stepping stones to find herself, going as far from the shore as she possibly could. But when the tide came in again, she had to either turn back sooner than she planned to, or else stay out as long as she wanted, only to slip and fall on her way back to solid ground through slick rocks and sloshing water. She finally arrived on the shore with salt chewing at her socks, and shoelaces and seaweed wrapped around her ankles.

At high tide, the waves were beautiful, but everything else eroded over time. Anything solid was slowly pulverized until the water spit the pieces out on the shore, all nice and smooth and homogenized.

Aqua stopped going to the sea after a while. It told her more about herself than she was willing to hear. She started to spend more time on the hiking trails with Terra again, trading the gray and slate blue of the ocean for the rich and refreshing green and brown of the mountains. It didn’t spark her soul the way the water did, but it was a calming, grounding place that reminded her of her childhood, back when she felt powerful with possibilities instead of burdened with restrictions.

By junior year, Aqua was ready to throw herself in the ring again. It was the same trap she fell into every year: maybe _this_ time, it would be different.

It was more of the same, as always. A few girls were willing to “try it out,” but never for long. One girl seemed confused about her own level of attraction to Aqua, and finally came to the conclusion, “I think I’d go out with you if you were a guy.” Another girl was simply trying to get the attention of a boy she had a crush on, and she assumed (correctly) that flirting with Aqua would be an effective way to do it.

Aqua had already lost most of her patience and sympathy for her classmates, but this girl was the only one she nearly got into an actual fight with. The only reason she didn’t was because Terra happened to be there. He held onto her shoulders and kept his voice soft and calm, despite the accusations and insults flying back and forth between Aqua and the other girl, her boyfriend, and several of his own friends.

“Come on,” Terra said, firmly but quietly. “You’re gonna ruin your chances with everyone else at this school if you go around getting into fistfights.”

“Like I’d even _want_ to go out with anyone here,” Aqua spat. “Honestly, fuck every girl at this school.”

Without missing a beat, the boyfriend said, “Cool. Can I watch?”

Terra had to wrap his arm around Aqua’s waist to hold her back as she lunged at the guy. He actually took a step toward her, which came as no surprise—they had yet to meet anyone who applied the “I don’t hit girls” rule to Aqua, the resident non-girl of Departure.

Before he could take a second step, however, Terra turned—still holding Aqua at his side, but placing himself between her and the rest of the group. He planted his free hand on the guy’s chest, and with a single shove, sent him staggering three steps back. “_Watch_ it,” Terra said. He didn’t raise his voice—he never did, in all the time Aqua had known him. He tended to take a conflict-avoidant approach whenever possible, defusing arguments with his easygoing and unassuming nature. But when he decided to dig his heels in, he was absolutely immovable. It took a lot to push him to that point, but once he got there, he would be pushed no further.

The guy automatically started to prepare for a fight, but when he saw the look Terra was giving him, he reconsidered. When Terra was certain the guy would keep his distance, he looked over his shoulder at the rest of the group and said, “Get lost.”

They did, scoffing and playing it off like it was their own idea. The girl lingered. She almost tried to say something to Aqua, who still refused to look at her, but Terra shifted again, hiding Aqua fully behind him as he said to the girl, “Fuck _off_.”

She took a step back, jarred by his bluntness. When she realized she had nothing to say, and that her words wouldn’t have been received anyway, she turned around and followed after her boyfriend and his friends—jogging to catch up when she saw that they were already rounding the corner at the end of the hall.

Once they were gone, Terra let Aqua go. She shrugged him off roughly, but after a few vain attempts to dry her eyes, she went right back to him, silently demanding that he put his arm around her again, this time in a hug. He held her while she cried, but he didn’t realize just how hard the crying had seized her until she said, “What the fuck,” and he heard her voice collapse on itself. He hugged her tighter and rubbed her back.

“I dunno,” he said. “Fuck them.”

Aqua nodded, resting her forehead on his shoulder. Terra rubbed her back for a few more minutes, then asked, “Wanna go home?” Aqua took a deep, shaky breath and shrugged. “Wanna go to the trails?”

Aqua shrugged again. Terra thought for a moment, then said, “Wanna just start walking?”

She paused, then nodded, and after a quick stop at the restroom to blow her nose and scrub her face with cold water, they headed outside, where everything generally made a little more sense.

In senior year, some of Aqua’s classmates came back out of the closet. She stayed on good terms with them, but she couldn’t entertain the idea of dating them again. It was a moot point, anyway—none of them expressed any interest in being with her, either. Instead, they found solace and contentment with each other that they were never able to find with her. But seeing them out and about made Aqua drop her guard a bit, and rekindle her hope that there might still be someone out there for her, too.

She started going out with a girl in a larger and more popular friend group than Aqua was accustomed to. For the first few weeks, Aqua was cautious almost to the point of paranoia. Her girlfriend was one of those people for whom popularity seemed inevitable: she was beautiful, smart, genuinely kind, and had a good sense of humor. But she had a way of making Aqua feel at ease, too, and even silly for being nervous in the first place. Before long, they had broken Aqua’s previous record for longest-held relationship, at a whopping two months.

And before long, the rest of the group’s behavior started to shift. It was small at first: a few extra hearts at the end of a text, calling each other “babe” and “wife,” giving each other kisses on the cheek. Nothing noteworthy—if they’d had any history of behaving this way before Aqua entered the picture.

One afternoon, Aqua’s girlfriend got a text that made her laugh. She showed it to Aqua: a photo of several of her female friends at the beach, all squashed together for a selfie. They’d held the phone up high above them to achieve what was generally agreed to be the most flattering face angle, and also to show off what was, in Aqua’s opinion, a pretty gratuitous amount of cleavage. The text was accompanied by a playful “Wish you were here~!” and a string of XOXOs.

“They’re so funny,” Aqua’s girlfriend said as Aqua furrowed her brow and handed the phone back.

“Yeah…do they always act like this?”

“What do you mean?”

Aqua shrugged. “I don’t know. They just…seem like they’re really playing it up.”

“Playing what up?”

“You know. The flirting.” When Aqua’s girlfriend gave her a blank look, Aqua rolled her eyes. “Come on. It’s like as soon as they realized you were into girls, they wanted to feel like you were into _them_. Like, ‘Ooh, the _lesbian_ wants me, I must be _really_ special. I mean, _I _would never date her, obviously, because _ew_, but still!’”

The girl frowned. “They don’t just act that way around me,” she insisted. “They’re like this with each other. And so what if they only started doing it after you and I started going out? I think it’s kind of cool. It’s like we’re setting an example, showing them that there’s nothing wrong with, like, ‘acting gay.’”

“Okay,” Aqua said with a laugh. “First of all, _obviously_ it’s cool for them to act gay, as long as no one thinks they actually _are_. And secondly, I wouldn’t really call wearing string bikinis and five pounds of lip gloss and doing the Straight Girl Pout for photos ‘acting gay.’ And side note: what kind of idiot wears lip gloss and mascara to a windy beach, anyway?”

At this, the girl glared. “These are my _friends_ you’re talking about,” she reminded Aqua. “They’re having fun. Are you _seriously_ getting jealous over one stupid photo?”

Aqua chewed on the inside of her cheek. “No,” she finally said, which was both the truth and a lie. She _was_ getting jealous, and it was about much more than just a photo. But she knew better than to admit it. She couldn’t afford to get jealous. She couldn’t afford to say or do or feel anything that would jeopardize the longest relationship she’d ever had. “I’m not,” she reassured her, and while her girlfriend still looked a little bothered, she said, “All right,” kissed Aqua’s cheek, and sat down on the couch with her to watch a movie.

A month before graduation, they went to a party at one of the field hockey players’ houses. Aqua managed to drag Terra along, despite his protests (“You have a _girlfriend_; you don’t _need_ a wingman anymore…”). Aqua considered letting him off the hook after all, if only to spare herself his whining, but she was glad she brought him when her girlfriend was whisked away by her friends for a few rounds of beer pong. It was nice to catch up, anyway. Although they lived only one street apart, Aqua and Terra had barely spent any time together outside of school this past semester. Aqua had been focused on trying to make her relationship last, and Terra had been focused on trying to pass calculus.

After half an hour or so of chatting by the refreshment table, Aqua checked her phone and decided to see if she could track down her girlfriend. She found her cheering at the side of the table, surrounded by her friends. She looked loose, relaxed, happy—and covered in lipstick marks. She grinned when she saw Aqua approaching and reached out to link arms, trying to pull her into the group of girls, but Aqua pulled back, and her girlfriend came stumbling with her. “Ow—what the _hell_?” she asked as Aqua led her to another room. She let go as soon as they were alone, not wanting to touch her a second longer than necessary.

“What the hell _yourself_?” Aqua repeated, gesturing to her face and neck. “I know I sure as fuck didn’t give those to you, so who did?”

“What?” she asked, fixing her hair and touching her cheek. “I told you, this is just how my girlfriends act with—”

“_I’m_ your girlfriend,” Aqua snapped. The girl looked taken aback, then annoyed.

“Will you _relax_ for once? You know what I meant. Jesus. You said you weren’t going to get jealous about this. I mean, it’s not like it was a guy or something.”

Aqua wasn’t sure what her response to that had been. All she truly remembered was standing there, staring at her then-girlfriend’s lipstick-covered face, and the next thing she knew, she was single again, walking out of her classmate’s parents’ beach house and into the starry night.

She headed straight for the ocean, letting the sound of the waves both fuel and quell her anger. She looked for a good place to sit down, realized she was too agitated to stay seated for more than three seconds, and went for a walk instead. She stopped when the shore became too steep and rocky to travel safely in the dark, but she didn’t turn back yet. Even at the edge of the sea, the place that felt the most like home to her, something was missing. She reached into her pocket and found her small Wayfinder charm—made of stained glass and metal, which Aqua had learned how to work with during an apprenticeship a couple years back.

She held the charm between her thumb and forefinger, lifting it up until it caught the moonlight. She’d been trying to find her way in this town for eighteen years, and now—a month before she planned to leave—she realized that she never would. There _was_ no path for her to follow, no signposts to direct her, no guides to help her find her way.

She clutched the charm as tight as she dared, then slipped it into her pocket again and headed back to the house. _Fine_, she thought. _If I can’t _find_ my way, then I’ll make it myself_.

She barely stepped through the door before her ex-girlfriend was at her side, imploring her, asking her to talk things out, begging to know what had gone wrong. Aqua stoically ignored her, until the girl took hold of her hand.

“Quit _grabbing_ me,” Aqua snapped, wrenching her hand free and turning sharply on the girl, who drew back in alarm. “And stop _following_ me. We _broke up_, dumbass. What don’t you _get_ about that?”

The girl opened her mouth and closed it again. Several of her friends had gathered nearby, ready to jump in and defend her at a moment’s notice. If Aqua were anyone else, she might have been intimidated. But if Aqua wasn’t afraid of their boyfriends, she certainly wasn’t afraid of them.

“If you wanna be with someone so badly, go take your pick,” she said, pointing at the group of onlookers. “Suck face with every girl in that room for all I care. Just leave me the hell alone.”

Aqua left without another word. She ignored the fading chatter at her back and returned to the refreshment table, where Terra sat with a small bottle of fruit punch that he’d stolen from the fridge while the host was out of the room. “Find your girlfriend?” he asked as Aqua sat down beside him and crossed her arms.

“_Who_?” she asked pointedly. Terra sighed, disappointed but unsurprised. Aqua wondered if it should concern her, how easily he accepted this outcome, like it was inevitable that her relationships would fall apart. She wondered if she should be concerned about how easily she accepted it, too. For a fleeting moment, she thought about the look on her ex’s face when it finally sank in that it was over, just like that. She’d looked affronted, but also genuinely hurt, as if she had no idea what could’ve possibly gone wrong.

A few years ago, that look would have broken Aqua’s heart. Now, it barely made a difference. Her heart was tempered glass, designed to break without causing her harm.

“Will you do me a favor?” she asked, and Terra nodded. “If I ever express any interest in dating anyone from this stupid, awful, backwater, shithole of a town ever again, _ever_…I want you to just fucking deck me as hard as you can. Okay?”

“Okay,” Terra said, obviously humoring her—he was the only person who Aqua knew, with absolute certainty, would never hurt her. But she liked feeling as if she had some accountability in her life, even if it was completely hypothetical.

On the drive home, Aqua stared out the passenger window, watching the telephone poles rush past and the stars stay absolutely still. She used to suffer intense guilt whenever her relationships ended. Being with another girl had felt incredibly rare, like a miracle that had been undeservedly bestowed upon her. Every time she ruined her chance with one of them, she was sure that it would be her last.

Now, with yet another failure of a relationship on her record, and only a month to go before she left Departure for bigger and brighter places, she knew that wasn’t the case. As she fiddled with the Wayfinder in her pocket, she made three very simple promises. She was going to get out of here. She was going to make her way in the world. And she was going to find someone out there who was worth it—even if that someone was only herself.

* * *

To Aqua’s surprise, Tifa’s apartment was actually closer to her own place than it was to Seventh Heaven, tucked away in a cozy little corner of the residential district. Tifa said she liked to keep her work life separate from her personal life, which Aqua wasn’t sure she fully believed—Tifa _had_ gotten her phone number out of the tip jar, after all. Still, she appreciated that staying over at Tifa’s place didn’t involve pushing through a crowd of club-goers and listening to live music all night long.

In fact, Aqua was convinced she couldn’t possibly get any more relaxed as she sprawled out on Tifa’s bed. When Tifa coaxed her into turning over onto her stomach so she could run her fingertips up and down Aqua’s back, Aqua was happy to be proved wrong. She crossed her arms under her pillow and sighed, completely zoning out. Aside from the _whoosh_ of the occasional car on the 25 mile-per-hour road, the world around them was quiet, and Aqua sank into that quiet like a stone.

It took her a minute to realize that Tifa was asking a question. “Mmm?” was all Aqua could get out, her face half-buried in the pillow.

Tifa tapped her shoulder. “What’s this one?”

“…oh,” Aqua said, laughing. “It’s a Wayfinder.”

Tifa brushed some of her hair aside, tracing the edges of the star-shaped tattoo. “What’s a Wayfinder?”

“They’re, like…emblems of my hometown,” Aqua said, trying to figure out how to explain the long history and cultural significance of the Wayfinder to someone who was totally unfamiliar with it. “Kind of a good luck charm for travelers.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Aqua said, pulling her hand free of the pillow and reaching up to touch her shoulder. “They really are. Terra has one like this, too—on his ankle. We got them together, back when we first moved here.”

Tifa smiled. “Homesick?”

Aqua shrugged, sliding her hand under the pillow again while Tifa resumed her back rub. “Not really,” she said, honestly. “But we both thought it was important to get them. More symbolic than anything, I guess.” She laughed quietly to herself. “We used to make our own as kids, but really crappy versions. Like, just tying sticks together and stuff. They were sturdy, though. I only had one break on me, and it was completely my own fault. I slipped on the hiking trails, on this embankment that I’d climbed hundreds of times. Went almost fifty feet down the hill. I was totally fine, but the Wayfinder was smashed to bits. It was the good one, too—I made it myself, with glass-blowing and metalwork and everything. Spent a whole week on it, and of course _that_ was the one that got shattered. Sucked.”

Tifa leaned down and kissed the ink Wayfinder, as if to make up for it. “Sorry to hear that,” she said. “But you know what they say? About good luck charms and things like that?” Aqua turned her head, just enough to give her a quizzical look. “If you have a lucky charm, and it breaks, then that’s a sign that it did its job protecting you,” Tifa explained. “You know, taking the damage that would’ve gone to you instead. So it sounds like it served its purpose to me.”

“…huh,” Aqua said. “I never thought of it like that.”

“Well, it’s all pretty superstitious. But they say the same things about holey stones, wishbones, talismans—”

“All right, what are you? A witch or something?”

“Nah,” Tifa said with a laugh. “Like I could be that cool. It’s just something I read once when I was a girl. Always stuck with me, I guess.”

“…well, shit,” Aqua said, “I hope I didn’t jinx myself, then. Can’t really afford to let this one break.”

“Ah, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Besides, I don’t think this one’s meant to be a lucky charm. It’s more like…”

Tifa’s hands stilled as she gathered her thoughts, and Aqua shrugged her shoulders impatiently, trying to prompt her to either continue the massage or finish her sentence—preferably both. “What?” she asked. Tifa rubbed her back again, slowly, and shook her head.

“Nothing,” she said, sounding embarrassed. “I was just…I was gonna say, I think it’s more like a symbol. Or a representation. You know…of you.”

“…how so?” Aqua asked, trying to sound only casually interested. Tifa combed her hair out of the way, then leaned down, kissing the back of Aqua’s shoulder.

“Well, you’re both strong,” she said. She kissed her shoulder again and added, “And good.”

Aqua smiled self-consciously. On the third kiss, she realized that Tifa was going around each point of the star. “Beautiful,” she said next, and Aqua laughed out of reflex, as if Tifa had told her a joke. Tifa paused, then kissed the fourth point, more firmly than before. “Dependable.”

Aqua waited in anticipation for the last word. Tifa hesitated, struggling to come up with descriptors that would match both Aqua and the Wayfinder without being too much of a stretch. Finally, she gave the Wayfinder one more kiss, quick and triumphant.

“Blue,” she said decisively, pleased with her choice. Aqua laughed with a snort and managed to turn over, leaning up to meet her. They kissed softly but deeply, and Tifa leaned forward, gently easing Aqua back down again. Already, they had outlasted Aqua’s previous relationships by one hundred percent, and there was still no end in sight. There was just Tifa, and a town full of people who couldn’t have cared less about telling Aqua what she should or shouldn’t do, and a cozy apartment that was already starting to feel like home.


End file.
